ƬΉΣ PӨIƧӨПΣD ΛПD ƬΉΣ PЦЯΣ
by Swyfte
Summary: Within PureClan, the poison known as love is forbidden. The Warrior Code abolishes it. It decrees love as a weakness-the penalty for falling under its influence is death. But however much love may be endangered, it is not dead yet.
1. The Loveless Clan

**Hello all. This story will be on the sidelines will I continue (and hopefully finish!) my mammoth project, Savy (Savage Shadows). So if this does not get updated in ages, I'll be completely emerged in my other fanfic. However, this story really wanted to be written, so it'll be my escape from Pebblepaw and Kiroki and that lot.**

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It began in the Clans. That was the thing that all elders could agree upon.

Namely, it began in _a_ Clan. They were the scapegoats of the others- they were weak, small, and could never win a battle. But their leader had an idea. The seed planted itself in the cat's troubled mind, and without permission it began to grow and grow and grow until it was all the leader could think of. It consumed every waking thought and every dreaming hour.

Her name was Brightstar, and at first, her idea was more terrible than anyone could behold.

She told her Clan, _We must drive the very existence of love from our ranks. No more will its loathsome hold weaken us._

At first it seemed their beloved leader had gone mad. But the more the thought about it, the more reasonable it became. Love made mousehearts of them all. Without it they would be strong; they would feel no pain. The perfect warriors.

They proposed the idea at the next Gathering. The other Clans scoffed.

_Impossible_, they called it. Folly. They ridiculed Brightstar and her Clan, her preposterous plan that was doomed to fail before it could even begin. They laughed, and went on their way without even considering trialing Brightstar's idea. Her Clan was shocked. It was a brilliant idea, and they had paid it no more than a moment or two heed.

The Clan hardened their hearts, and left their old territory to find a better, richer place, which they could claim all for themselves. After much travel and cold, hungry nights, the perfect place was found and they created their Utopian Clan. Love was expelled from their midst; they labelled it as an anomaly, a disease. They forbade it. The penalty was death. She-kits were raised on one side of the camp, toms another. Contact between the two sexes was forbidden- a lot of things were. Until they were matched with their pair, neither side had anything to do with each other. They were renamed; they discarded their old, soft name and replaced it with _PureClan_.

The warrior code was extended.

_A warrior that falls in love faces the punishment of exile or death._

_A warrior that displays signs of the disease faces the punishment of exile or death._

_Sympathizers__ of love face the punishment of exile or death._

_Resistors of the warrior code and all that it stands for face the punishment of exile or death._

For seasons the dynasty of the loveless Clan continued. Love was scarce, but all the efforts to eliminate it had failed.

Into this Clan, a sable-pelted kit was born.

This story is her tale; how she lived, loved and fought for very thing her entire Clan tried to oppose.

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Cats Of PureClan:

Leader- Morningstar: dark golden she-cat, tawny dapples

Deputy- Iceface: icy gray tom with thin grey flecks.

Male medicine cat- Sorrelstorm: ginger tom with darker streaks

Female medicine cat- Specklefrost: speckled brown she-cat with wide blue eyes

Apprentice- Sparkpaw

Warriors (male)-

Fussyfur: spiky-furred grey tabby tom

Apprentice- Sleetpaw

Coldbone: grey tom with erratic pale stripes

Tallstorm: tall black tom with almond-shaped yellow eyes

Gorsespots: ginger tabby tom with white legs, belly and chin

Thornstreak: dark brown tabby tom with tufted tail

Sedgewing: cream tom with faint brown patches

Waterstripe: pale marbled silver tabby tom

Tornear: large, scarred brown tom

Warriors (female)-

Fallenfeather: light sorrel tabby she-cat

Tawnypetal: cream tabby she-cat with narrow amber eyes

Apprentice- Swanpaw

Shimmerleaf: black-and-white she-cat with pale blue eyes

Redsong: reddish overo she-cat

Meadowmist: white she-cat with green eyes

Apprentices (male)-

Sleetpaw: pale grey tom with blue-grey patches

Apprentices (female)-

Sparkpaw: sandy-ginger she-cat

Swanpaw: slim white she-cat with black paws, muzzle and tail-tip

Queens-

Embertooth: wiry black she-cat, paired to Thornstreak (kits- Sablekit: thin black she-cat with tufted ears; Pepperkit: dark tabby tom with white chest and bold black stripes)

Littlefern: pale creamy fawn she-cat with brown rosary spots, paired to Fussyfur (Smokekit: dark grey tom with subtle leg striping; Slatekit: pale grey tabby tom with gold eyes; Nettlekit: dappled fawn she-kit; Rainkit: dappled grey she-cat)

Crookedflower: small tortoiseshell she-cat, paired to Iceface (kits- Fleetkit soft-furred grey tom; Jaykit: pale blue-grey she-kit)

Elders (in pairs)-

{Snowdapple: white she-cat with faint pale grey dapples

Webfoot: stocky dark grey tabby tom}

{Duskwhisker: pale brown she-cat

Crowshadow: short-tailed black tom}

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**Well, heeereeeeee's PureClan. If the names sound a little funny to you, they're meant to.**

**(Oh, also, if I'm not heard from in a while, my computer is packed away and I have a mountain load of homework to plow through. Ciao!)**


	2. Kit-killer

It was in early Greenleaf when Embertooth kitted. For two moons, her stomach had swollen increasingly larger and larger. Specklefrost, with almost imperceptible worry in her eyes, had declared, in the first bountiful days of the new season, that there was a possibility of three kits. The small audience- family and the such- winced and muttered to themselves. Thornstreak outright glared at his pair, as if it were her fault she carried an odd number of kits. That was five days before the wiry black she-cat kitted.

Four days before, Specklefrost, bound by duty and honor, told Morningstar about the number of kits. Morningstar nodded sagely and bent her head to discuss the problem with Iceface. Her casually flicking tail signalled the female medicine cat's dismissal.

Three days before, Smokekit, Nettlekit, Slatekit and Rainkit were born.

Two days before, the Clan waited with baited breath for the delivery of Embertooth's kits. Word had gotten out; rumors circulated she did not carry two or four kits, but three.

One day before, Sorrelstorm placed a plea with the leader and deputy.

_If the kit is male_, he asked, _let him become my apprentice._ Morningstar agreed, and Iceface nodded grudgingly.

On the day, everyone was sick of waiting. A storm was brewing, too; the air hung thick and humid around the camp. Heavy purple-and-grey clouds crept across the sky. The cats were irritable, but Morningstar was pleased. A storm was the perfect cover, if the rumors were true and Specklefrost had been right. If Embertooth kitted soon, everything would be perfect.

When the first fragrant drops of spring rain hurtled into the dusty ground, the kitting began. Specklefrost hurried to and fro from her den, bundles of herbs clutched in her jaws. Sparkpaw trotted at her heels. Sorrelstorm paced inside his den, turning short, tight circles in the cramped space until he was dizzy. He always hated when the she-cats kitted. Even though he never delivered them- that was the female's job- he was always there to clean up the...leftovers. Sometimes he was lucky. Sometimes there were even amounts of kits, half toms and half she-kits. But more often than not, the litters were uneven and he need to dispose of the unwanted kits. When he was especially unlucky, the whole litter needed to be culled.

A wail drifted across the camp, amid the flurry of raindrops. Sorrelstorm groaned, pushing his muzzle under his paws.

_Please StarClan,_ he thought, _let it be a tom. Let it be a tom and it will have life._

Embertooth's first kit was a dark tabby. Specklefrost proclaimed it to be a tom and passed it over to Sparkpaw. The young apprentice wrinkled her nose, but ran her paws over his back and carefully groomed and cleaned his fur. The next was a strikingly black she-kit. Despite her short, churning chubby legs and her tiny ears, flattened against her head, it was undeniable she possessed her mother's beauty. To Sorrelstorm's later horror, the last kit, the unlucky third, was also female. Her fur was a lovely, soft grey shot through barely distinguishable streaks and specks of a colour like ash.

Specklefrost _tssked_ and drew it away. It squealed and struggled blindly forwards until the the medicine cat planted a firm paw on its tail. Embertooth, half-conscious and exhausted, stared hollowly at her doomed child. Thornstreak had eyes only for the other two, and did not pay it a single glance.

"Pop out and fetch Sorrelstorm," Specklefrost asked nonchalantly, as if asking for another packet of herbs. Sparkpaw grimaced- she was awkward and nervous around males- but ran out into the thundering rain anyway. Embertooth glanced wildly after the apprentice, trembling, one dark paw stretched towards the grey kit as if trying to breach the impossible barrier. When Sorrelstorm's dark head, plastered to his body with rain, ducked into the nursery, the black she-cat hissed and lashed out with thorn-sharp claws. Thornstreak held her down, with his massive paws, but she flailed and almost escaped.

"Kit-killer!" she cried, baring her white teeth.

Sorrelstorm paused, head-down, water dripping off his soaking pelt, unflinching. It was not the first time such accusations had been hurled at him. He feared it would not be the last. The ginger tom steeled himself, took and deep breath and raised his head. He gave a sympathetic nod to the grieving mother and her pair. Specklefrost did not look at him, but shoved the squirming kit through the dust on the ground towards him. Sorrelstorm stooped and picked up the soft grey bundle, and despite his looming task, he was careful not to hold her too tightly. Then, with a heavy heart, he ventured back out into the rain. It pounded his body mercilessly. Rivulets of icy water ran down his spine, dripped off his quivering whiskers. The kit thrashed in his jaws.

No one saw the medicine cat hurry across the camp and into the forest with, strangely, a small kit dangling from his jaws. They were curled in their nests, waiting out the storm. None knew of the tom's dark burden, the deed his leader commanded him to do. Only Embertooth, lying in the nursery, poppy seeds being shoved down her throat, actually cared.

Sorrelstorm took his time navigating the forest. He knew the paths well, had been walking them his whole life; he only walked slowly to prolong the kit's short, and ultimately miserable life. Yet despite his slow pace, he reached the river all too soon. Rain had swollen it, and the water churned with a frenzy. No cat- kit or warrior- could survive a swim in such deadly, chilling waters.

Sorrelstorm felt sick; he always did, when he had a kit to 'dispose of'. (Morningstar's words, the term she used to describe it.) He opened his mouth to retch, forgetting for one precious moment the kit that he held in his mouth. Like a stone, she plummeted into the rushing grey waters. With a final squeal, she disappeared under the surface, and left Sorrelstorm standing open-mouthed on the bank.

As he returned to camp, paws dragging over the muddy ground, all he could hear was an endless accusatory chant in his ears:

_Kit-killer, kit-killer,_ _kit-killer._

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**Oh well. I stoled a computer to write with. So, not ciao.**


	3. The Legacy of Brightstar

"Really, Embertooth, it's shameful that you've kept them together this long."

Sablekit woke, the sound of her parents' argument ringing in her ears. Pepperkit stirred and twitched beside her. His paw was thrown casually over her tail. The black she-kit cracked open her eyes; all she could see was her brother's broad back and a slim vault of light above his dark tabby fur. Rolling over onto her other side, she could see the dark shadows where Embertooth and Thornstreak stood. The other nests were empty. A small trail of moss scraps lead to the nursery's entrance.

"They're only kits, For StarClan's sake," her mother hissed, glaring defiantly at her pair. Thornstreak snarled, searched for a suitable retort, and spat one out.

"You let them play with Littlefern's litter. Not just Sablekit with Rainkit and Nettlekit, and Pepperkit with Slatekit and Smokekit, but all six of them together. I should report you to Morningstar."

"And tell her what?" Embertooth snapped, tail lashing furiously. Only Sablekit, it seemed, could discern the fear in her eyes.

"I'd accuse you of carrying the poison. I'd also accuse you of encouraging the poison among the youngest generation. Mostly, _treason_," Thornstreak growled, pushing his nose into Embertooth's sleek muzzle. "And we both know what _that_ means, don't we darling?" He let the implication, and the mockery of the fond endearment, hang in the air. Embertooth tried to maintain her icy stare; after a few seconds, she broke it and looked away; at the ground, at the thick wooden walls of the nursery- a large, hollow tree- at the kits, at anything but her pair.

"Good," Thornstreak said, swiping his tongue roughly over the black she-cat's ear. "I'll be taking Pepperkit with me. He's been coddled by she-cats for long enough. I wouldn't be surprised if you've infected him with the poison."

"You can't!" Embertooth protested. "He's just a kit! I've only just began to feed him solid prey!"

Thornstreak's tuft of a tail twitched. "Pepperkit will stay with me, and I'm going to advise Fussyfur to do the same with his own tom kits," he meowed curtly. Sablekit shut her eyes as he approached the nest. Pepperkit's warmth suddenly lifted away; he protested with a drowsy mumble. Her father began to pad away. Sablekit, confused, and suddenly alone, lurched to her paws. She caught the dark look that Thornstreak shot his pair, Pepperkit swinging from his jaws, before he squeezed out of the entrance. Sablekit took one step forwards to follow- she and Pepperkit went everywhere together, _did_ everything together- but, quick as a flash, her mother's paw was there, holding her back, severing her from her brother.

"Embertoooth..." Sablekit whined, as her mother clamped soft jaws around her scruff and dragged her back to the nest. She was vaguely aware of her mother's methodical movements as she groomed the moss and dust from her pelt, but all she wanted was to go with Pepperkit; it wasn't fair that he got to do stuff with their father while she didn't. The enormity of her situation did not yet dawn on her. She was blinded with all the innocence of a young kit.

At some point, Littlefern shuffled into the nursery, her shoulders stooped. Embertooth paused her mechanical licking and glanced up. The two she-cats shared a look, a sad, knowing look, a look that Sablekit would later realise was illegal.

Only two kits trotted back into the nursery. Smokekit and Slatekit did not follow.

Crookedflower, at sun-down, returned to the nursery. Her look of composure broke as she curled up in her nest; Jaykit, the oldest kit in the nursery, sat by her mother's head and stared, her lovely blue eyes hollow, at the camp through the nursery entrance. Her brother Fleetkit did not come back either. Sablekit turned, opened her mouth, and began to ask her mother where Pepperkit had gone. But one look at her mother's, deep, sad golden gaze seemed to tell her everything she needed to know.

That night, the mewls and squeals of kits could be heard coming from the warrior den, until a harsh-voiced cat snapped at them to shut up.

. . .

At first Sablekit missed her brother. But as the days passed, the bond they had once shared grew weaker, ravaged by neglect and disuse. Everyday, she would see him as she sat outside the nursery. He crouched on the other side of camp, beside the warrior den. Sometimes they would exchange a curt nod; the elder's tales filled them with cautions and a sense of discipline and responsibility. They feared, for the sake of encouraging the poison, to do any more than acknowledge each other.

_Love_, they understood, was forbidden. Whatever they'd had in the past, whatever they had decided to call it- love, kinship, a feeling of family- they both disregarded it. The elders had warned them; it was dangerous to let the poison fester. Love made mouse hearts of them all, and mouse hearts did not make warriors. No one could find reason to dispute their claim. PureClan had lived so long without it, they could not imagine a world where love was openly embraced, where love was not punishable by death. Where cats, instead of being paired without any say in the matter, could chose their own mates, and raise their own kits without fear of an odd-numbered litter. Too many tom kits or too many she-kits did not many in the least. Such a world, a utopia, could surely not exist.

No one dared to try and find it; the risk was great, the fear was greater.

And so PureClan lived, day after day, through one season and the next, silently questioning but never breaking, always adhering to their strict rules. They believed, squashing the private doubts in their hearts, the lies that Morningstar spoon-fed them. Years after Brightstar had passed on, her dark legacy remained to taunt her descendants.


	4. Tainted

Sablekit was 3 moons old when Morningstar announced her impending kitting. The whole Clan celebrated, by means of a feast; the season of plenty and prey had treated them well. The kits grew plump and sleek, as did the mice and the voles. The birds were tender and juicy, the rabbits fat and tasting of the moors and the wind.

Two moons, however, was a long time to wait, for a kit. Jaykit had already left the nursery- she was Jaypaw now- and there was a sad lack in playmates for the rest of the she-kits. To say the least, they were sick of each other and the lack of interesting company. The elder's tales were not enough to sustain them. After a while the old cats simply began to repeat themselves in various forms:

_Do not fall in love._

_The poison is bad- do not fall in love._

_Love is a mouseheart's weapon; do not fall in love._

_To fall in love is to guarantee your death._

_Beware, young kits. Do not fall in love._

Suffice to say, the young toms and females alike were truly terrified of the poison 'love' and all it stood for. All they had heard was the horror stories, the age-old lies, warnings and cautions. Had they been told the true nature of love itself, perhaps they would realize the whole of PureClan was a scam. Yet there was none to oppose them, no rebellious warriors or resistors among them. Those sorts of cats had been driven off and killed, a long, long time ago. So the kits were raised and saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing but the lies they had been preached.

A moon before Morningstar was due to kit, Sablekit experienced her first warrior ceremony. The leader's belly was visible swollen, but her eyes betrayed none of the softness or love of expectant mothers. They were merely golden orbs, tawny, soulless pits that glinted as she called out the apprentice's names in a hard, cold voice.

"Sleetpaw, Swanpaw, step forwards," she said, standing tall on the grassy knoll that was commonly called 'The Speaking Hill'. It wasn't a hill, as such, and it was nowhere near as large, but it served its purpose well.

The two apprentices shuffled forwards a few paces, a healthy berth between them.

"Do you promise to uphold and protect the warrior code, and to help protect PureClan from the invasion of the poison formerly known as love?" Morningstar asked. There was only one answer here, and she knew it; under penalty of death, no cat could say no.

"We do," the two said in unison. At least, the to-be queen smiled, but it was a small, sharp thing.

"Then, Sleetpaw, under the eyes of StarClan I present you with your warrior name. The Clan honours your quest to evade the poison. You shall be known as Sleetclaw. Serve us well."

Sleetclaw dipped his head and backed into the crowd. There was no chanting, or licking the leader's shoulder as the previous custom dictated; all of that, _unnatural rowdiness and actions of love_, the senior warriors called it, was forbidden.

"And Swanpaw. Under the eyes of StarClan I present you with your warrior name. The Clan honours your quest to evade the poison. Discard your old name: you are now Swanpath."

The new warrior nodded, and slipped back into the mass of seated cats.

"You have already received your pair: StarClan have approved the match between Sleetclaw and Swanpath." Here, at least, the Clan cheered; new pairs meant new kits, and new kits meant a new generation to continue the fight against the poison.

That was also the day that Sablekit saw her first Tainted.

Several warriors- Thornstreak included- returned, shortly after sun-high, to camp dragging a mottled brown tom after them. Sablekit had been halfheartedly dabbing at a scrap of old moss when a cluster of excited, ragged shrieks interrupted her brooding boredom. Half the Clan was gathered around the camp entrance. They were jeering, hissing, snarling insults at the limp shape Coldbone was restraining. Some reached out and jabbed at its thin brown pelt, only to recoil in horror and disgust, as if they could feel the poison writhing beneath its skin, and smell it oozing from his very pores. The black she-kit crept closer, green eyes wide with fascination and a small portion of fear.

The Tainted was not particular impressive. He was a mere rogue, thin and starved, caught in the wrong place at entirely the wrong time. Bright red slashes stretched from his stomach to his flank; drying blood clung to her father's claws. His stomach heaved with shallow, rapid breaths. His ears were flattened against the back of his head. His eyes were closed, but he flinched at every sound, every jape and growl.

Sablekit was too excited to be afraid, or to even pity the rogue- it was a real, _live_, Tainted!

Morningstar hurried from her den, face twisted with hate and malignant expression of glee. Her pair Sedgewing trotted behind her, his creamy pelt ruffled and his dark blue gaze fixed on the poisoned rogue.

The perfectly cloudless blue day was also Sablekit's first execution.


	5. Execution

"PureClan!" Morningstar shrieked. She stalked, with quick, sharp steps, over the Speaking Hill; her paws were stained green with grass blood. The tawny she-cat's gleaming eyes shone with an impassioned fever. PureClan would call it a righteous light- others, the so called Tainted, would call it bloodlust. The brown tom crouched before her. Sablekit couldn't see his face, but his plain fur was bristling and his thin frame trembled. He had some sense of his impending doom, at least. Two warriors stood stiffly beside him, watching, guarding, waiting. One was Thornstreak: ever Morningstar's faithful thug. The other was the new warrior Sleetclaw, determined to prove his mettle, no matter what it took. The Clan was gathered in front of the knoll. Sablekit had shoved her way to a good spot at the front with Nettlekit, but up front, where she could smell the stench of the Tainted's fear, she wasn't sure being to close was such a good thing.

"My Clan! Today, our dutiful warriors found a Tainted on _our _territory! Spreading the diesease, trying to infiltrate our ranks with poison! Will we sit idly by and let that happen, PureClan?" Morningstar yowled. The warriors raised their heads to the sky and cried, as one:

"_No!"_

"Will we let love poison the minds of our children?"

"_No!__"_

"Will we let this Tainted- one who carries the very _poison_ in his veins- live? Does one who bows down to love's wishes deserve life?"

_"No!"_

"Exactly," the tawny she-cat hissed, and leapt, with a surprising agility for a pregnant queen, off the knoll. She landed on top of the Tainted and bowled him over. The sudden maneuver elicited a surprised squeak from the tom.

"Please," he whispered, staring up at Morningstar. Sablekit, mere inches away and certainly close enough to hear the Tainted's pleas, could not look away. A shudder worked its way down her spine, but she was loath to blink in case she missed another swift movement. This was, perhaps, the most exciting event in her entire, short life.

"Don't hurt me!" the tom cried, as Morningstar's claws slid from their sheaths and sluiced through his fur. His begging only lead to hisses and catcalls from the Clan. They did not care for him, a simple rouge. His demise was their entertainment; proof that without love, they were strong, and with it, all they became were trembling mousehearts.

"StarClan accuses you of carrying the poison! Do you concede with the wise ones, the all-seers?" she snarled. Her tail lashed the air.

"I don't, I don't know-poison? I-" the tom's stammer cut off as Morningstar jammed her paw into his windpipe. He wheezed and struggled feebly under the queen's hefty weight.

"Does he concede?" Morningstar hissed at her Clan; by now, they were seething with excitement and jostling for good positions.

"_Yes!_"

"And what is the punishment for harboring the poison?" she roared, backing off her latest victim, tawny fur ruffled with anticipation. Sleetclaw took her place, crouched over the unfortunate Tainted, claws sinking imperceptibly through his thin pelt. He did not smile, but triumph was in his eyes, and his tense muscles belied his excitement. To find a Tainted was rare; to catch one and kill one meant great honor for the Clan. To even touch it would prove a warrior's bravery.

"_Death!" _came PureClan's ragged cry. "_Death, death, death, death!_"

Morningstar smiled radiantly.

"It is my great pleasure, under the watchful guiding eyes of StarClan, the eternal warriors set against love, to take the life of this Tainted and remove its blight from the world!" With those proud words, she turned her gaze on the cowering brown tom. Sleetclaw stepped away, but the petrified cat made no attempt to run- where could he go? There were crazed, bloodthirsty cats crowded all around him, and all would rather tear him to pieces than look at him.

"Your demise is an honor," the tawny she-cat intoned, gazing at him benevolently. It was an odd expression, the tom thought, just before her teeth found his throat.

Sablekit watched with impossibly large eyes as the Tainted died, choking on waves of his own blood. She saw the red, red blood pool around him, and stained the fresh grass with an unholy shade. She saw him flop, defeated and lifeless, from Morningstar's jaws. There was blood on her muzzle, on her chest. Sablekit wondered if she could see the disease, swimming through the blood- reaching out with malevolent claws, intent on tainting _her_- but she could detect nothing.

"My Clan!" Morningstar, in all her serene, blazing, glory cried. "We have culled the Taint of another un-pure from our world! One less minion of the poison runs amock before us!"

The Clan, incensed on the execution, elated over the split blood, cheered.

* * *

**A Tainted is just a cat that's not from PureClan. One o' the 'poisoned'.**


	6. The birth of Morningstar's prodigy

The moon that preceded the leader's kit was a quiet one. Nothing interesting, to say the least, happened during that moon. The deluge of prey was slowing down to a small, stately trickle, but that was nothing to remark upon; it happened every year. The leaves crisped, browned, and fell- another ordinary, boring annual event. Swanpath retired to the nursery amid rumors and wisps of gossip that it was far too late to be having kits, and she herself was far too young. With autumn's cold bit came the autumn rains, which gradually washed the blood from the grass below the Speaking Hill. They also made the camp, which was a nondescript grassy clearing in a nondescript, heavily wooded forest, a muddy mess. The shallow underground tunnel dug crudely underneath the hill, which served as Morningstar's den, was not saved from the disgrace, but by that time the elegant she-cat had taken her place in the large bramble thicket known as the nursery. Iceface reigned from the warrior's den. Either Morningstar had forbidden him from using her den, or he simply did want not want to curl up in a nest of mud and sparse moss every night.

But the night- as if she were trying to be inconvenient, as the moon was high in the sky before the medicine cat was actually called- of the tawny queen's kitting was an exciting one. The whole Clan was on edge. Births always made them uncomfortable; prospective mothers sometimes developed an unnatural bond with their kits and that could lead to the weakness being spread among their litter. Weakness among the litter would quickly escalate to the weakness wrecking havoc throughout PureClan. That within itself would be a disaster. All that the noble warriors stood for would be ruined, and the last, the only crusaders against the poison would be crushed.

But their worry was irrational. Of all the she-cats, Morningstar was the least likely to induce poison. She had killed more Tainted than she could count. She mocked the ways of the outsiders, and deliberately matched the least compatible cats together to deduce the risks of the pair formulating the poison. The pairing between Embertooth and Thornstreak was a prime example. They could barely stand each other on a good day. They were always bickering, disagreeing on some various topic or another. Sablekit, who at first had been conflicted when her parents began to argue, quickly accepted it as a normal part of her day-to-day life. She was, at the moment, nothing more than an impressionable kit; she did what she was told to do, and feel what was expected of her. She had not yet developed the spark that would define her life. That was still to come.

The black she-kit was sleeping when Morningstar began to howl for Specklefrost. Grumpily, the young cat blinked open her eyes and struggled to overcome her hazy vision. Despite the dim light, she could she see the leader splayed in her nest, moss strewn around her paws and writhing tail. Embertooth mumbled sleepily and turned her face towards the nursery wall. The other queens were sitting up in their nests, blinking quizzically at Morningstar before realization lit their faces.

"What are you waiting for?" Morningstar hissed at Sablekit; her nest was, quite unfortunately, the closest in the proximity.

"Get that damned medicine cat!" she urged. Her command expected no answer but _yes._

Without a word, Sablekit scrambled out of her nest and shook grass and moss from her inky pelt. The air was cold, and she shivered and fluffed out her fur as she hurried outside. For and instant she had forgotten the mud, and she plunged into the cold muck with a gasp. Stoically, she struggled onward, but the clammy caress of the mud was almost too gross to bear. The medicine cat's den was all the way on the other side of the camp. She'd been there a couple of times, once for a stomach ache, and it wasn't much. It was a mere, shallow dip in the ground, shaded by ferns and bare tree branches. There were two grassy tunnels. On her first go, she entered the wrong one and found Sorrelstorm's dark den. One one side, rather like the nursery, there was a thick bramble wall, but this one was more more thorny. It seemed that the tom had speared herbs and leaves on the small barbs. The medicine cat was hunched beside this wall, tail idly mussing the pile of tidy green leaves on his left. His eyes were narrowed. He seemed not to see her until she apologized for her intrusion.

"Sorry...I'll be going now," Sablekit muttered. Sorrelstorm grunted, and she backed away into the cool recess of the grass tunnel without any further exchange.

The next tunnel, of course, was the correct one. Sparkpaw lay in her nest, groaning as Specklefrost fluttered around her and demanded her to get to her paws and help.

"Err," Sablekit said, pausing in the entrance. "Morningstar sort of wants you..."

"I know!" Specklefrost hissed, giving Sparkpaw a shove while somehow managing to drag a bunch of shiny dark laves down from their perch in a forked branch. Sparkpaw pitched forwards, and sprawled limply on the ground, shooting a reproachful look at her mentor.

"Here, carry this," Specklefrost commanded, pushing a packet of messily wrapped leaves toward the hesitating kit. "Take this to Morningstar, and be quick or else you'll get an earful from a certain cranky cat."

Quashing her inner grumbles- she was _tired_, all she wanted to do was _sleep_- she took the packet in her jaws and trotted away. It was slick and tasted foul in her mouth. Taking mind of the harried she-cat's words, she increased her pace until she was flying over the mud and back into the nursery.

"There you are!" Morningstar exclaimed, sounding exasperated. She was reclined elegantly in her nest, and despite her earlier shrieks, she appeared to be in no pain and was successfully maintaining a calm and collected expression. Sablekit spat out the herbs by her paws. The queen give them a cursory suspicious sniff.

"What are these, and _where_, pray StarClan tell, is my medicine cat? She should be here! I ordered it!" For a moment the she-cat's calm crumbled, and she snarled out her questions. Then she miraculously regained her serenity and beamed at Sablekit.

"I'm right here," Specklefrost said, ducking into the nursery entrance and wincing when the rough frame of brambles and thorns scraped her pelt. Sparkpaw shuffled in after. She looked half-asleep, and by no means fit to help deliver kits.

"And now-" Specklefrost tossed a flippant look around the nursery. "Sablekit, Rainkit, Nettlekit, out." The kits were unceremoniously dumped outside by their mothers.

Sedgewing sat outside. His fur was ruffled, but it was only against the cold. His eyes were a deep and untroubled blue, despite the yowls his pair was emitting on the other side of a thorny barrier.

Embertooth, like the other queens, remained inside the nursery. As experienced mothers, it was expected of them. She hated being witness to birth scenes; it was mainly because by the time the whole litter had been kitted, one or more had been cast aside to die. She was not sure why she felt such pity for the doomed kits. Compassion was a foreign word to her, and it implied, at least a hint, of love. And Embertooth could not afford show the slightest ounce of the poison's taint upon her heart; Thornstreak would be on her, quicker than a flash, probing with his demanding questions and lashing out with his demeaning retorts and standoffish comments. Then he would be reporting her to the leader, the deputy, spreading rumors and lies to anyone who would listen. She would be ruined; her very life would be forfeit.

So, of course, she kept her love for her kits a secret. She thought the other queens might have known. They all seemed to feel love for their children. Unnatural as it might be, Embertooth could not, and would not, squash her feelings. Her pair, however, did not seem to feel anything for his own kits other than a fraternal responsibility. He spent a lot of time with Pepperkit -and the black queen's heart stilled ached at the thought of her darling little boy- and occasionally visited Sablekit, who eagerly lapped up his attention. She span him little spiels against love and told him stories of cats punished for falling uner the Taint's influence, which she had learned from the elders. She was praised on each occurence by her father, but Embertooth felt sick when she heard her daughter preaching against love, and promising to continue the fight to stop the reach of its 'evil'. She surely did not know what her mother felt for her; she would be sickened if she did. And in her darkest moments, where she simply could fight her grief no longer, she thought of her lost kit. She thought of her tiny, limp grey body washing up on some distant shore. She had somehow managed to retain a feeble hope that her kit had survived, but as Leafbare sank its frozen fangs into the forest, the hope waned and grew dimmer.

Embertooth was shaken from her reverie as the leader let out a yowl. This seemed more for show as her eyes belied no hint of pain. Minutes later, the first and only kit was born. Specklefrost quickly checked it and announced that it was a healthy tom. The gathered cats waited for the next kit, but it did not come. Morningstar herself was shocked- she, as perfect and beautiful as she was, had only managed to produce _one_ kit? But she would not let Sorrelstorm take him. He was a large white kit with a mixture of his father's brown patches and his mothers tawny pelt mottled over his fur. Morningstar insisted that the tom would live, and that as all the arguement the medicine cat needed. He left without a further word, and there seemed to be a relieved slump to his shoulders.

Maybe, Embertooth thought, just maybe she hated him just a little bit less for that.

* * *

**Long enough..?**


	7. An apprenticeship

Despite the slight age difference between the two litters, Embertooth's and Littlefern's kits were still apprenticed on the same day. In fact, it wasn't much of a day, with a dim, cloudy atmosphere. Pathetic dribbles of rain fell, on and off, throughout the morning, but Morningstar still went ahead with the ceremony. She had recovered well from the kitting, and the shock that she had born only one kit. Sedgewing, however was still nursing a set of vicious claw marks, dealt by a certain vengeful she-cat, on his cheek bone, centimeters below his eye.

When the time for the ceremony was nigh- despite the clouds, Morningstar had pronounced it to be sunhigh- the tawny leader gathered PureClan beneath the Speaking Hill. The five apprentices to-be, preened and prepared, sat off to one side. Their anticipation threatened to undo the grooming their mothers had so laboriously applied. There was a certain sadness in Littlefern's eyes, a sadness she could not quite hide beneath her mask of indifference as she watched her remaining kits. There were only three now; Slatekit, Nettlekit and Smokekit. Rainkit had, apparently, wandered off in the middle of the night and had been caught by a fox or badger, or perhaps even a malevolent Tainted, the rumors speculated. Morningstar called the whole affair a tragic accident, but her cunning eyes gleamed whenever she looked at her single child.

Sorrelstorm struggled to contain his disgust whenever he saw Morningstar. It had been much harder to 'dispose' of a near-grown kit, rather than a newborn. Rainkit hadn't gone easy. She'd put up a fight, and the medicine cat was still having to hide the shiny pink scars from the Clan. He had to, or else they'd get suspicious.

They queen had named the tom Strongkit, and already he had a higher status than the apprentices and many of the younger warriors.

"PureClan, warriors, apprentices, kits and queens, I have called a meeting for announce the apprenticeship of these young cats," Morningstar boomed. Yet again, there were no cheers, only silence to greet the announcement.

"From this moment forward, until they have earned their warriors names, they will be known as Slatepaw, Nettlepaw, Smokepaw, Sablepaw and Pepperpaw. Slatepaw will be mentored by Thornstreak, who has proved his worth in his capture of the Tainted. Tornear, you are practiced in the way of battle and will make a suitable mentor for Pepperpaw."

There were ripples of shock when she declared that Waterstripe would mentor Smokepaw; he, out of all the toms, had a reputation of softness.

Nettlepaw was quickly apprenticed to Fallenfeather, as Morningstar hoped to distract the Clan with her next quick volley of words.

"Sablepaw. You will be mentored by Meadowmist," Morningstar said, beckoning the white she-cat forward. Softly, she bumped her pale pink nose against Sablepaw's.

"And that concludes the meeting," Morningstar cried. She was already scrambling off the knoll and towards the nursery where Strongkit waited. Sablepaw didn't like his dark eyes; they always seemed to be watching her, calculating her movements, analyzing anything and everything she did. It was unbelievably creepy, but the arrogant fur-ball seemed to think he had the right, as the leader's sole kit, to do whatever he wanted.

"Come on," Meadowmist said, beginning to walk away. She looked back at her new apprentice with impatient eyes. "Do you want to go explore or sit around in camp?" Sablepaw startled and trotted after her mentor.

At first, Meadowmist seemed to weave through the forest without any aim, until they reached a wide river with a flat silver surface.

"This is one border of our vast territory," the pale she-cat announced. Her voice was bored; she'd been here, dragging too many apprentices along on the same old tour and intoning the same old speech too many times. Sablepaw herself appeared no different from the rest of the rabble. Without giving her curious apprentice much time to glance around- it was just a river, after all- she continued on her well-worn path. The next landmark they visited was a wizened old deciduous tree with a smattering of owl pellets on the forest floor around it. Meadowmist reluctantly stopped, but only told Sablepaw to _watch out, if you don't want to end up as one of those little pellets by the time night rolls around._

Before long the pair were trotting off again to mark yet another border- thin one was a crumbling edge of a ravine. Sablepaw gulped when she peered over; many meters below lay a jagged bed of rocks. A small, merry blue stream wound its way around the jutting grey obstacles.

A few paw steps into the forest, they were joined by Tornear and Pepperpaw. The two warriors chatted almost amiably- they had to remain above a certain of aloofness, to provide their impressionable apprentices- but the two young cats padded behind them in an awkward silence. They hadn't spoken to each other in moons, but Sablepaw could still remember the warm and milky morning, when her brother had been cruelly torn away. It seemed he did too, and he kept darting her tiny, wary glances.

But it was clear they were both thinking the same thing:

_Love is poison...love leads to your own death._ All the cationing tales the elders had ever told them whirred through their minds, one after the other, each bringing with it a warning. Instinctively, they stuck to opposite sides of the path. It was simply so ingrained, the wariness of the opposing sex, that it did not occur to them to make a polite or casual conversation.

Neither asked, _so, the weather, eh?_

They did not ask each other how they liked their apprenticeship or their mentors so far. To a strange cat, an unsuspecting Tainted, they would appear odd and unnatural, but by now, this behavior came second nature to the young siblings.

Together, they visited the stand-out landmarks of their territory; an underground stone cavern to weather out the storms in; a lovely green meadow on the outskirts of the territory (Meadowmist did not live up to her light and airy namesake); numerous old trees which mice frequented for the acorns and nuts, and lastly the place where the smooth river, in a crescendo of white water, off a pebbled cliff. There was a crumbling path etched into the rock-face that led down the roughly-hewn rock wall, but not cat was brave enough to try it.

Together, the brother and sister returned to camp, but by the end of the night, they had retired, separately, to different dens on the opposite sides of camp.

* * *

**I'm guessing this isn't my best work, but I have a bit of a cold and I'm not feeling the brightest.**


	8. A thrush's lucky escape

Morningstar shifted uncomfortably in her nest, a stray twig digging into her ribs. Strongkit mumbled a sleepy protest and rolled against her stomach to quickly close to gap. Swanpath's kits- there was, unfortunately, three- squeaked and mewled in their sleep. The pale she-cat herself was sprawled on her side, her fur ruffled and her bones jutting against her skin. The kitting had taken it out of; she had been far too young for kits, and it was taking its toll on her once pretty and slim figure.

Wrinkling her nose, Morningstar pushed Strongkit to the edge of the nest. For such a large and boisterous tom-kit, he was so clingy, and that worried her. If her son grew up only to develop the poison, it would be the end of her reign and her reputation. At least she could stop worrying about one thing; her gamble in getting rid of Rainkit had worked. Every kit and apprentice could be nicely matched off to each other, all except Pinekit, Swanpath's unlucky third kit. He would be apprenticed off to Sorrelstorm, who was immensely relived.

Dappled splashes of weak, dawning sunlight filtered the green-and-brown canopy above her head. It had been four days since the apprentice ceremony, and a moon or two since Strongkit had been bored. Sometimes it was hard to remember the exact date; she didn't really care. Mostly her time was concerned with running the Clan and pairing this cat to that cat. She really had no time for a kit. The sooner she could apprentice him, the better.

Charkit, Swanpath's pale grey she-kit, raised her head and blinked her owlish blue eyes. Morningstar hunched down in her nest. She didn't like kits, especially not with their tiny little claws and their insolent attitudes, but they were necessary to the Clan, to continue the generation and the fight to prevail against the disease.

The tiny she-kit lurched out of her nest and wobbled towards Strongkit. The thick snowy stripes that marred her pelt gleamed in the faint light. Her sister Streamkit began to stir. Pinekit continued to snore ignorantly.

Iceface, as if by divine intervention, popped his head into the nursery. His habitual grumpy expression was stoically fixed into place. Charkit paused in her intrepid journey to stare at the larger cat.

"Morningstar, we need to organize the patrols," he said, giving the kit a flinty glare. Relieved, the tawny queen rose to her paws and shook the tenacious remnants of moss from her pelt. After giving each of her numb legs a quick shake, she trotted from the den. She risked one more glance backwards. Charkit was dabbing at Strongkit's face with one small grey paw, and her sister was tottering towards the pair.

Outside, the air was nippy. Thick clouds hung low in the sky. Several warriors were stretching beside their den, and some were musing over the meager fresh-kill pile.

A small group of apprentices were sitting in the long grass beside the Speaking Hill. There was a clear line between the she-cats and the toms- that pleased Morningstar. Meadowmist was talking with Sablepaw. The pretty black she-cat was frowning, shaking her head, but Meadowmist only shrugged and began to stroll away. She appeared to be heading back to her nest. Sablepaw grimaced, muttered something to Nettlepaw, and began to stalk out of camp.

...

Sablepaw, fuming- an undesirable trait, in PureClan- pushed her way through the forest. Meadowmist, being the lazy she-cat she was, had insisted that she go out and try to catch a piece of prey alone. She'd also said that it would be a test of her skill, but her smug and content expression as she'd headed to her den had belied her true intentions.

It was highly doubtful that a young apprentice in the middle of Leafbare could manage to find prey, let alone catch it. Yet Meadowmist had not seemed to care. Quite frankly, she didn't seem to think that training an apprentice was too much to worry about.

The black-pelted she-cat paused, drinking in the forest scents with her mouth wide open. Beneath the reek of the dead and dying leaves, she could detect a faint, warm scent that could possibly be a bird. Sablepaw swiveled one ear around, listening, waiting. To her right, there was a small scuffle and the happy trill of a thrush. With the easy grace of practice, she slipped into a hunting crouch. During her few days as an apprentice, Meadowmist had drilled several similar crouches and pounces into her brain. So long as her apprentice could hunt, Meadowmist assured herself, it was all she needed to be a warrior.

She prowled through the undergrowth with quick, careful steps. She stuck to the shadows, the phantom dark mirrors of the trees and sparsely furnished bushes. The only things that gave her guise away were her luminous yellow eyes. They were, hopefully, possibly, the last things the bird would ever see, above a yawning pink mouth outfitted with wicked white fangs.

But Sablepaw was not the only predator attracted by the bird's merry chirping.

From behind the gnarled trunk of an old and stooped tree, another bright pair of eyes watched the thrush. The eyes, on regular occasion, bobbled a small distant closer, and closer, and closer, every few seconds. Then they would stop, and wait, narrowed cautiously. They wouldn't hesitate for every long before repeating the motion, slinking ever closer to its intended prey. By the time Sablepaw spotted the thrush, the owner of the eyes was prepared to spring, claws gripping the dead and dry ground with anticipation. So too was the black-pelted she-cat. She pressed herself to the forest floor, muscles tense. She fought to keep her long winding tail still, while she waited for the moment.

When the moment occurred, both watcher's seized the opportunity and leapt. The thrush took off in startled- at somewhat relieved, having successfully avoided a messy end at the claws of not one but two hungry predators- flight, trilling a loud warning. Sablepaw found herself in a painful collision with her fellow apprentice Smokepaw. In a tangle of flying limbs and twining tails, they thudded into the ground. The breath left her lungs in a painful undignified gasp, but as soon as she regathered her wits, she scrambled away from the dazed grey tom. Just touching the opposite sex left her skin crawling; it was as if she could feel the invasion of the poison setting in.

"That was my bird!" Sablepaw spat, bristling, before she remembered she was not supposed to even talk to a male, let alone collide with one in mid-air.

Smokepaw took his time sitting up and brushing leaves from his pelt- a very feminine gesture, Sablepaw thought- before replying. Even so, it was only one word. He, for one, seemed mindful of the regulations.

"Sorry," Smokepaw muttered, shrugged. His nonchalance suggested that he didn't really care. The young tom was just turning to leave, perhaps pondering the possibility of more prey, or the possibility that it had all been scared off, when something occurred to Sablepaw.

Without really thinking, she blurted, "Can you tell Pepperpaw that I said hi? And that I hope he's still okay?"

Smokepaw paused, shrugged. His impossibly round and amber eyes met hers.

"I guess," he agreed, seeming to be a tom of few words. Sablepaw remembered playing with him and his litter, once or twice on occasion, before they had gone to live in the warrior's den. It was a hazy memory, but he seemed changed. PureClan did that to cats.

It was a very disgruntled, and prey-less, Sablepaw that made her way back to camp.

_Tell Pepperpaw that I said hi? How juvenile does that sound, and just how poisoned?_

* * *

**Alright, I hope this clears a few things up. And, also, I won't have internet/computer or even tv until maybe Wednesday or Thursday. Only two electrical plugs in my until-recently vacated house are working, so wish me luck! (You know how earthquake repairs and stuff are. They even left the gaping hole in our roof alone, and the piles while spinning some spiel about 'pre-existing damage'. Oh well, that's my life and I won't bore you with any more.)**

**P.S Thank you for all your lovely reviews and your support!**


	9. Embertooth

"Embertooth?"

There was a paw covering hers, a voice in her ears. Indifferent yellow eyes, blinking at her, just managing to mask their concern. Then, the same voice, the same word, the word she distantly remembered as being her name.

"Embertooth?"

She wanted to tell the voice to go away, leave her be; she didn't need them. She didn't need this _life_; she hated it, and more than anything she wanted it to end. It was hellish, the loveless existence, or at least, the pretence of pretending not to love. Because she felt the poison, the love, for her kits, and maybe even a little for her pair despite his pigheaded arrogance.

But she couldn't do this life, not anymore. It was a weight on her shoulders, and every day it got just a little bit heavier. Some days it became too much; when that happened, she couldn't breathe, couldn't move, didn't want to. She could only feel self-pity and sadness and grief, and slowly it was killing her. She could see it, when she tried- her sleek fur was growing dull, listless, her flesh clung plainitively to her thin bones. Most days she didn't eat. It was too hard, and everything turned to ash and dust in her dry mouth.

"Embertooth, can you hear me?"

Embertooth opened her mouth, gave a reply that was barely more than a puff of stale air.

Sometimes, somedays when she tried, she could eat a little. But it was not for her, never for her, and only for the kits that swelled her stomach. When she didn't, she felt cruel, but the world she was going to bring them into was crueler. She felt heartless, at that thought. She didn't want the kits to be raised here, in the heart of the monster's den, to grow up and each be another love-killing beast. _That_ was cruel. But what could she, humble Embertooth, obeyer of the rules, submissive always to the higher power, do? Escape was out of the question. Death seemed impossible. Not with him always watching, questioning her, prodding her with gentle claws.

"Embertooth, please, talk to me." The voice was more desperate. She hadn't responed to it for three, four days now. Hadn't touched the prey placed at her paws since the morning she had decided not to move from her nest. Didn't touch it, didn't want, nor this wretched life she led.

"Embertooth, come with me to the medicine den. She can help you-right? Of course she can, just come with me Embertooth, this way." With gentle coaxing and teeth in her scruff, she somehow managed to lurch to her paws. She didn't know how; one moment, she was sprawled in her nest and the nect she was swaying on her feet, muscles trembling and clenching with the effort of remaining upright. The journey to the medicine's den was a blur, a hazy, exhausting blur, but she could feel the Clan's eyes on her. Watching, evaluating, judging- how they loved to judge(in the sense of the term, at least, and without openly admitting it). Big eyes, little eyes, narrowed eyes, all fixated on her pelt and thinking, _Embertooth always was weak, Embertooth was always going to fall for the poison, Embertooth...good riddance. _

Then she found herself in the cool recess of a sweet-smelling den, on a nice fresh nest of soft moss. There were herbs in her mouth, writhing down her throat, and soft paws on her stomach. The voice of Specklefrost, telling Sparkpaw to shut up and help. The yellow eyes, staring at hers, looking helpless and ever-so-slightly worried.

_Don't, _Embertooth thought at the eyes. _You'll get yourself in trouble and then where will you be? _But they held her gaze; it was she who broke it, dropping her eyes down to her paws. Thornstreak watched her for as long as he could, still trying to maintain his icy mask, until a harried medicine cat shooed him away.

Embertooth, watching him stalk away, felt sad for a fleeting moment. She would've wallowed in her grief for longer, but there was a black oblivion fogging her mind, snapping her tether to the waking world and pushing her adrift. She resisted, weakly, until she was lulled away. There was no pain, not anymore, and for that she was relieved.

...

When the dazed black she-cat woke, she was alone. There was a faint murmur of lowered voices outside the den.

She caught phrases, snippets-

_"Depression- it's a sign of the poison."_

_"She has it?"_

_"For certain..."-_

and instantly wished she hadn't. She wanted to go back to that dark and warm place where she felt nothing and cared for no one. She wanted to go back there for good, and leave behind the troubles of the world and everything it stood for. She didn't want her burden anymore, the weight on her shoulders and the claws around her heart.

The sound of voices grew stronger.

_"What can we do about it? Morningstar will want a public execution."_

_"If she has evidence, she will."_

_"We can't lie to her, Thornstreak. She'll know. She's not the leader of this Clan for nothing._

The conversation-treason- was interrupted by a despairing silence.

Embertooth felt sick for the sake of the kits she carried. They'd kill her, her and the kits, without a second thought.

_"If she knows she is with kits?"_

_"It'll only prolong her life... she'll have two, three moons at best if they let her have the kits."_

Silently, the to-be queen rose to her paws. She swayed, almost toppled with a curse, but righted herself and took a small step into the gloom of the den. Her eyes roved the depleted inventory of herbs. Tansy, marigold, borage roots, chamomile, thyme, poppy seeds. Embertooth knew what she was looking for; when outright killing was not an option, PureClan resorted to a poison of their own. At last she spotted the dully gleaming berries, half-hidden beneath a wide green leaf. With a trembling paw, she scooped several of the small red spheres towards her. Closing her eyes and quivering on her feet, she paused and told herself she was doing it for the good of her kits, and tried, unsuccessfully, to feel unselfish.

Then she bent and swept the berried inside her mouth with her dry and cracked tongue. She swallowed and waited. It felt like an eon. It took seconds for the berries to wreck their deadly havoc. She fell to the ground, writhed, and unleashed a scream that could barely convey the exact measure of agony she felt. It was everywhere, searing her lungs, seizing her muscles, burning in the pit of her stomach, consuming her unborn kits in an inferno of pain and nausea.

Thornstreak rushed into the den, his perfect mask of composure splintering, breaking, shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces.

"_Embertooth!" _he cried, and it was the last thing she heard, ringing instant her ears, a cacophony of grief and anger and betrayal. She hadn't meant to hurt him, truly hadn't, but she had been doomed to die at either her paws or Morningstar's. She preferred the former; detested the idea of the latter.

"_Embertooth!"_

* * *

**Mwaha, I unleashed my mean streak. Here's hoping I can get it back under control again, hmm?**


	10. A watery grave

Sablepaw, a starling swinging from her jaws, heard the cry from her leafy perch. She paused, obsidian claws sinking into the knotted bark of the pine. The voice was familiar, but she did not recognize the pain that it conveyed. The black she-cat tried to smooth her pelt and quell her worry; Meadowmist waited meters below the tree for her apprentice's triumphant return. She'd probably heard the cry too. It had been exceptionally loud and agonized but she would be suspicious Sablepaw appeared concerned in the least.

Neck straining under the weight of her prey, Sablepaw scrambled off her tree and landed with an undignified thump on the forest floor. Meadowmist looked on with cold and calculating green eyes. She didn't seem worried by shriek from camp. The white warrior only nodded her approval at Sablepaw's catch before setting off through the undergrowth. The apprentice followed at a cautious distance, lugging her bird awkwardly. It was a long few minutes to reach camp. The number of drastic scenarios flitting through her head increased with each.

When they reached the camp it was crowded. Even the elders had roused themselves from their musty old den for the occasion. She spotted Pepperpaw in the crush of cats that ringed a small, forlorn black shape. She saw her father, standing straight-backed and unflinching. She saw Morningstar staring contemptuously at the black carcass; Strongkit huddled beside her and peered at it with an expression of mingled curiosity and horror. She saw that every cat was gaping at her mother like she was a freakshow. She saw that everyone was there but her.

Sablepaw swallowed her shock. She pasted a blank facade over her features- she did it so often, it was second nature now, a habit- and walked stiffly over to the crowd. They glanced at her with wide, owl-like eyes, and parted like water to allow her through their midst. Without a word they shuffled back to close the gap, and left her standing in front of the slim, sprawling shape she had known once as Embertooth. Her lips were parted in a dying wail, and red juice stained her tongue. Her eyes were dazed and blank. She was, evidently, quite dead.

Sablepaw's heart sank. How had she missed the signs? Her mother's self-isolation? The way she never ate, never left her den, never spoke a word? How had she overlooked the way her skin clung to her thin, frail bones, how her glossy fur had grown dull and knotted? She exchanged a quick glance with her father. There was a faint shred of emotion that lingered beneath the ice in his eyes; he was guilty, grieving.

"It was such a tragedy," Morningstar murmured, disconcertingly close to Sablepaw's ear. She was simply, suddenly, sinuously there, where before she had been standing on the opposite side of Embertooth's prone body.

The black apprentice smoothed out her fur and carefully wiped her face of emotion. It wouldn't do to appear weak in the middle of the Clan. She waited for Morningstar's next comment, but she remained silent, her face impassive save for the disgust in her eyes as she stared at Embertooth. She didn't seem to think it a tragedy, only a grim promise of more to come.

Thornstreak was the next to speak. He walked past the body with a solitary blank glance before nudging his daughter towards the females' apprentice den.

"C'mon," he muttered under his breath. "You shouldn't have to see this." Pepperpaw trailed behind them like Thornstreak's dwindling shadow. He was staring at his paws, blinking hard.

The two paused at the entrance to the shady den. Thornstreak was looking at her quizzically.

"You like so much like her," he whispered, with a small half-smile. Then he was gone; Morningstar had called him with an impetuous shout. Sablepaw was left to stare at her brother, who was lingering behind. His eyes were dark and sullen. He was not the kit she had known, but a tom that masked his emotions and pretended to forget their sibling bond.

"I...got your message," he said, sneaking a furtive glance behind them. No one was watching, but he kept his voice low anyway. Caution was their primary instinct- it could not be forgotten for even a moment.

"Oh, yeah. That," Sablepaw replied uncomfortably. Their whole conversation felt wrong. They hadn't spoken to each other for moons. It was awkward, not to mention slightly forbidden.

Pepperpaw nodded slowly and began to back away as if he could flee the small conversation. He paused, to mumble, "Well, hi." That was apparently as much as he was willing to say; the tabby had begun to rush off even before he had finished his sentence. He left Sablepaw feeling perplexed and torn. She knew that to harbor the poison was wrong, but then why could it feel so right?

Although it was only early afternoon, Sablepaw retreated to brood in her nest. Correctly, she guessed that she'd be over missed in the aftermath of the shocking event. The other female apprentice's returned to the den after the night sky and a smattering of cold white stars had appeared. They all ignored Sablepaw, perhaps hoping she was asleep or not knowing what to say. Really, what could they tell her? There was no place in StarClan for cats who broke the rules. StarClan was for the good cats, the ones who obeyed the higher power and the commands of the Warrior Code. Embertooth was neither; she had probably earned herself a cold nest of dead leaves in a remote and starless eternal forest.

So they left her well alone. That suited Sablepaw. She drifted off to sleep thinking of her mother's glassy eyes, her final snarl stained with berry juice.

When she woke the limp black carcass had been removed from the camp. Sablepaw did not ask what had happened to it- and it _was_ an 'it'; Embertooth had not lingered in the body. She left the delicate issue without another word, and tried to forget. She culled her curiosity, As a result she never knew where her mother's bones lay.

There had been no funeral for the disgraced warrior, nor a vigil. Come morning she had been hauled off towards to river, quite likely to find her way to her daughter's watery grave.


	11. Raid

Morningstar decided to boast the low morale of the Clan with a raid; a long-anticipated event. There hadn't been one for moons, and PureClan needed some blood beneath their claws. The far-off Twolegplace was, despite being quite a distance from their territory, an ideal area to pick up strays and naive kittypets. The announcement was made a quarter moon in advance- just days before Strongkit's apprentice ceremony.

Meadowmist ruthlessly grilled Sablepaw in the arts of brutal butchering. Her downy white fur and plump belly belied her skill; she fought like a badger. Session after session, the black she-cat found herself sprawled in the dust and dirt of the Training Grounds. The dry riverbed was parched and cracked. Each fall sent a jolt running up her spine that exploded in front of her eyes. When this happened a cloud of black swirled across her vision. She could hardly see but Meadowmist shoved her back onto her paws anyway.

Sablepaw could rarely best Meadowmist. Often her attempts left her with stinging pink scratches raked along her pelt.

She returned from the Training Grounds after a particularly nasty episode had bestowed her with variously shaped and sized lacerations, and found that Morningstar was calling a meeting. The tawny she-cat looked relieved; there was no trace of pride in her eyes as she stared down at her solitary son.

"PureClan," she called, as Sablepaw hastily took her seat beside Nettlepaw. "Today we honor a young apprentice with his new name. No longer shall he be known as Strongkit. He is Strongpaw now, from this moment forwards, until he earns his warrior name. Thornstreak, you are a strong and loyal warrior-" here Morningstar leveled her narrow gave at the tabby tom- "and you shall mentor Strongpaw to be a true warrior of PureClan."

Sablepaw bit back a hiss of displeasure at the announcement; she didn't like Strongpaw, never had. He acted as if leadership ran through the bloodlines and he expected to become his mother's predecessor. Sharing training sessions with him would be barely tolerabable; sharing her father was even worse. She glared at the two toms as they bumped noses roughly. Pepperpaw didn't look too pleased himself.

"I will also be announcing the raiding party," Morningstar yowled. A wave of silence flooded the meeting place. Each hoped their name would be announced. Raids held a certain thrill that nothing else could touch. Something about spilling Tainted blood was irresistible, addictive. Once they started they never wanted to stop, filled with a wild righteous joy.

"I will lead the raid. Thornstreak, Tallstorm, Redsong, Tornear, Sleetclaw, Meadowmist, Sedgewing, Strongpaw, Smokepaw and Sablepaw will accompany me. The rest of you will be left the guard the territory and hunt to provide for the queen, kits, apprentices and elders. Is anything unclear?" Morningstar asked. A cruel light shimmered in her eyes.

Sablepaw gave Nettlepaw a sympathetic nudge but her mind was whirling and her claws itched to slice through Tainted flesh. Strongpaw gave a triumphant snarl but Smokepaw was outwardly calm. His deep eyes meet Sablepaw's; with a shudder, she wrenched her gaze away.

...

The quarter moon crawled by. Sablepaw hunted, trained and waited with a hungry thirst for the raid. Meadowmist trained her even harder until slivers of scars could be seen beneath her thick black fur and wiry muscles rippled below her skin. She'd often crawl to her nest with shrieking muscles and flowering bruises underneath her pelt. Vain efforts were made to sleep the cramps off, but in the morning the pain seemed only intensified.

On the journey of the raid, Sablepaw crawled out of her den with stiff, wooden limbs. She hid a grimace; nothing was going to ruin her chance of going to the Twoleg place. Perhaps she did not realize the exact measure of destruction and chaos that would follow their visit. Perhaps, like a true PureClan cat, she did not care.

"Sablepaw," Meadowmist greeted her apprentice calmly, drawing her tongue over one sleek white paw. For once she was up early. A vindictive glow lit her forest-green gaze; she relished the thought of spilling Tainted blood. Though blood on white fur was not exactly pretty, she put up with it for the thrill.

Sablepaw dipped her head to her mentor and scanned the camp. Most of the raiding cats were up- with the exception of Strongpaw- and were gulping down packets of herbs from the medicine cats.

"Go eat your traveling herbs," Meadowmist commanded dismissively, shooing her reluctant apprentice away. Sablepaw went to stand uncomfortably by Sparkpaw, who leaned against her den with a casual, sleepy air.

"Herbs?" the she-cat asked, making a valiant effort and failing to appear awake. Sablepaw merely nodded and watched the sun slink above the horizon. It stained the sky a glorious, vivid red with hazy crimson claws, like a prophecy of death and doom. Sparkpaw shambled off into the dimness of her den, her ginger fur ruffled from sleep. Specklefrost's grumpy snarl issued from the bush as she shoved the green packet at her apprentice.

"I thought you made up all the packets already!" she snapped. "Now, tansy, poppy, lotus roots...there they are."

Sparkpaw shuffled from the den, blinking blearily in the suddenly bright light. She placed the leafy packet at Sablepaw's paws before sinking to her stomach on the grassy earth. Sablepaw gulped down the herbs, frowning at the bitter taste. It lingered on her tongue as she wandered back to Meadowmist, who was the swiping the air with her claws. Without warning, she turned and lunged at the black apprentice. Primitive instinct seized her muscles and she jerked backwards, hissing. Meadowmist's paw stopped short in front her nose.

"What was that for?" Sablepaw spat, staring at the pearly claws that hovered inches before her eyes. Meadowmist put her paw down and began to groom calmly. Between licks she answered, "No point lugging you along to a bloodbath if you can't defend yourself, is it?"

Sablepaw didn't bother to argue; her logic made perfect sense.

At that moment, Morningstar strolled out of her den, her tawny fur tinged with copper and gold in the dawning light. The cats in the clearing raised their heads; conversation ceased.

"PureClan,"she called, stalking up the Speaking Hill. "Who's ready to raid?"

_"We are!" _the Clan thundered. Several startled birds darted into the sky at the sudden commotion.

"Who's ready to spill some Tainted blood?' she screeched.

_"We are!"_ PureClan roared; it seemed their leader needed no more encouragement. She trotted towards the forest, gathering her raiding party to her as she went. Meadowmist and Sablepaw drifted to join her as she paused at the leafy threshold. Sorrelstorm followed the warrior, herbs clenched between his jaws. Once, in their place, it had been seasons of kits carted off to their doom.

"Iceface is in charge!" Morningstar reminded the remaining warriors as she stepped onto the worn path that wound through the forest. "For _now_," she whispered under her breath, grimacing. Then Sablepaw did not hear anything else the she-cat had to say; she was too busy racing across the forest floor in a crush of mottled pelts, anticipation humming in her blood. Savage cries filled the air. What little prey that had ventured outside of their burrows fled. Even a soft-furred deer bolted from her grazing spot as PureClan crashed through the undergrowth.

The party slowed to a more sedate pace as they exited the trees. They were in the meadow on the eastern side of their territory. Sablepaw hesitated as they passed the border, then dived over as if taking a plunge into icy water- she'd never been so far from camp in her life. A step behind her was the untainted haven; sprawled in front of her was a disease-riddled, festering world where love ran rampant and choked cats with it poisonous, deadly grip. Meadowmist snorted at her apprentice and moved to travel beside Morningstar.

Sablepaw was left with the three male apprentices. She wasn't sure if the rules about talking to them applied outside of the territory, but she kept her mouth shut anyway. Smokepaw and Strongpaw kept a small, strained conversation running, which Sablepaw ignored. Pepperpaw remained silent too, and stared solemnly at the hazy skyline.

"What about you, Sablepaw?" Strongpaw asked. The she-cat jerked back to attention, turning her confused gaze on the two toms.

"What?'

"How many Tainted are you gonna kill?" he asked, laughing grimly. Smokepaw looked vaguely perturbed by Strongpaw's blunt question.

"As many as I can lay my claws on," Sablepaw answered mildly; she did not give the stereotypical, squeamish she-cat reaction Strongpaw had been probing for. He didn't seem to mind, only laughed harder when she replied before whispering something in Smokepaw's ear. The grey tom recoiled , disdain flashing in his eyes.

The Clan stopped traveling when the sun set, and settled down to rest in a sheltered grove. When Sablepaw glanced to the skies, she realized the stars seemed duller, muted. A distant glow lit the horizon.

With a spark of excitement that quelled her fatigue, she realized it could only be the fabled Twolegplace.

* * *

**Whoo, another chapter! Can someone please remind me what season it is PureClan's sunny world? ;-; I lost count of the months.**


	12. First Blood

"Behold," Morningstar cried, with a dramatic flourish of her golden tail. The Towlegplace sprawled before the cats; a smoggy, towering maze of ugly block shapes that Meadowmist called 'buildings'. A perpetual smoky cloud shrouded the tallest peaks. Somewhere down there, in the glass-and-metal labyrinth, hid the Tainted. Sablepaw unsheathed her claws and sunk them into the springy green turf beneath her. A short trip down the hill and into the heart of loner territory was all that prevented her from spilling poisoned blood.

The Clan peered down at the city, eyes narrowed in a greedy anticipation. It had been too long since the last raid. There had been one a moon or two before Sleetclaw's warrior ceremony. Sablepaw was too young to remember, yet she was as eager as any of them. The single, sniveling Tainted she'd seen as a kit could not possibly compare to the rough and wild alley cats of the Twolegplace.

The sun peeked above the distant forested horizon, sending shafts of light to gleam off the dark glass of the buildings. It fascinated Sablepaw; she could never have imagined something with such a surreal, alien beauty.

Morningstar glared contemptuously at the rising yellowish orb. She preferred the dark. Most PureClan cats did; the dark was where the bloodthirsty, terrifying monsters lurked. "Warriors!" she growled, riveting the attention of her cats. The light sparked off her golden pelt, tinting it with copper and rust.

"We will soon enter the Twolegs' 'city'. While we are in their domain, we are not safe. Remember to watch out for their Thunderpaths and monsters," she warned. "If you get caught, don't ever expect to come back." Sablepaw shivered; she'd learned Twoleg lore from her mentor but their ways still seemed so strange, baffling.

Here, Morningstar began to glare stonily at the gathered party. "First blood is mine." Then she turned sharply and bounded down the steep green hill. The Clan followed, vicious smirks twisting their muzzles,tearing up the ground beneath their paws. They were silent; they'd spoil the game if they made too much noise, and scared the intended prey away.

Morningstar paused when she reached a flat grey surface. The expanse stretched out across several fox-lengths, and was intercepted by white and yellow lines. A huge blue beast, the sunlight shining of its smooth snout and sleek body, roared past. Sablepaw hissed, fur bristling, until she realized it was not going to stray off its path; it kept growling down the Thunderpath, ignoring the cats. Meadowmist scoffed at her apprentice's naïve reactions.

"Cross after me!" Morningstar called, placing a small paw on the Thunderpath. After darting a glance both ways, she began to pound across the solid grey river. Cats began to pelt after her. Swallowing her trepidation, Sablepaw raced after them. The ground was hard and sticky beneath her feet. She nearly collapsed with relief as they reached the other side. A white monster snarled as it flashed past, mere moments from crushing Strongpaw underneath one of its strange, rolling black paws. The white-and-tawny tom no longer looked so cocky. His pale brown stripes bristled. Morningstar cuffed her son reproachfully over the ear, hissing a reprimand.

Sablepaw drifted away from her mentor to stand behind her father. His face was carefully blank as he greeted her with a nod. She dipped her head in return as the group began to walk again. The Twoleg place loomed before them. Squat, small buildings nestled around the flashier towers. Some older buildings, beginning to crumble and rot, crowned the inner city expanse. These buildings, unlike the majestic dark skyscrapers, were ugly, unappealing.

It wasn't long before the cats milled on the threshold between the city and the wild; the vastly unknown and the comforting familiar.

Morningstar placed a white-tipped paw on top of the minuatre Thunderpath that bordered the Twoleg place and the rolling fields. Then she hoisted herself onto the warm surface and curled up on the sun-heated stone. PureClan paused, waited for her next command.

"Go hunt, bring me food," the she-cat yawned. "We'll raid at sunset." Grumbling accompanied her words, but neverless, cats peeled away from the main group and padded into the surrounding forest. Sablepaw trotted into the woods with her stomach growling. Her last meal had been at yesterday evening. It had only been part of a shrew, barely enough to sate her hunger for little more than a few hours.

Now, she was black apprentice opened her mouth and tasted the crisp air. Bird calls filtered through the air around her. The forest was full of life; in all rights, it should've been simple enough to take one.

Something rustled in a nearby bush. Once, twice, followed by a small squeak. Sablepaw's eyes lit and she dropped into a familiar hunter's crouch, tail hovering lightly over the thik bed of crunchy dead leaves. She watched, waiting, her pelt blending seamlessly with the shadows, as a brown face poked out from between the bush's leaves. The face was followed by a gingerish body and a fluffy tail. The squirrel had eaten well over the course of leafbare; it was plump and sleek. It pawed through the leaves and dirt on the ground, snuffling to itself. Unwittingly, it presented Sablepaw with a perfect oppurtunity, by sticking its head underneath a clump of dead foliage. Sablepaw did not waste the chance to grab a good meal.

She bunched her muscles, narrowed her gaze and leapt. The squirrel tried to flee, when the hungry predator burst from its shadowy hiding spot, but it was too fat, too slow. She trapped it beneath her paws. Savouring her triumph, she leaned down slowly, drank in the scent of its fear, scorned its feeble attempts at escape. Its blood tasted thick and coppery, when she sank her fangs into its bared neck.

"Nice catch," Smokepaw said from behind her. She startled with a snarl, whipping around with her kill dangling from her jaws. She spat it out when she saw it was only a fellow apprentice. Fury blazed in her eyes, masking her fear and shock.

"_What,_" she snapped, "_in the name of StarClan_? Don't _do_ that! You scared me out of my fur!"

Smokepaw twitched his whiskers wryly. "What, can't praise a friend for catching such a nice, fat squirrel?" he asked innocently.

Sablepaw narrowed her eyes. "No. You can't," she answered shortly. "It's not allowed." _And you're not my friend._

Smokepaw reclined against a tree, his amber gaze scrutinizing hers. "We can't do this, we can't do that. It's not allowed. The Warrior Code forbids it. I wouldn't have picked you for being such a stickler for the rules, Sablepaw."

"So what if I am?" she replied, feeling hot underneath her black fur. The whole conversation felt wrong; she shouldn't be speaking to him. The _rules_ dictated that no contact should occur between the two sexes until they were paired.

"Maybe there's more to the world than rules," Smokepaw suggested. His tone was nonchalant, but his words were hearsay. Rules were everything; they structured the Clan, shaped their daily routines, their hierachy, their lives.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Sablepaw hissed, unsure of where this conversation was leading, if she even wanted to _go_ there.

"Only one way to find out," Smokepaw answered, backing into the undergrowth until all she could see was a pair of smouldering amber eyes. "Only one way, Sablepaw." Then he blinked once and was gone.

StarClan, she hated the way he said her name, as if it actually meant something to him.

…

She returned to the edge of the Twolegplace with her squirrel hanging from her mouth. A meager prey-pile rested by small Thunderpath. Morningstar snored on the warm grey stone, her pair sitting diligently beside her. She cracked open a bleary eye as Sablepaw returned. With a cracking of stiff joints, she uncurled and gave a massive yawn.

"Apprentice, here," she commanded, gesturing with her tail. Suspicious, Sablepaw sidled towards the leader, the dead squirrel hanging in her jaws. She could read the greedy imperative her eyes.

"Give me that squirrel," the she-cat demanded. Quashing an inner grumble, the apprentice spat out the prey onto the pavement. Morningstar licked her lips and dismissed Sablepaw with an absent twitch of a golden ear. Sedgewing only watch as his pair hungrily devoured the unfortunate rodent.

The black apprentice wandered over to the fresh-kill pile. It consisted of a shrew, a scrawny sparrow and a tiny mouse.

"You can share my hare with me," Strongpaw said from behind her. For the second time in the space of a day, she bristled and spun around. The white-and-tawny tom watched her, head quirked on the side, a limp brown hare slumped at his large paws.

"Maybe she doesn't want to. Maybe she prefers the taste of fish," Smokepaw growled, materializing out of the forest. Strongpaw shot him a resentful glare, before his eyes settled on the fat silver fish Smokepaw had caught.

"I don't think she's going to like a tom who reeks of fish," he retorted.

"I don't like _either of you_," Sablepaw spat. The sudden influx of male attention made her nervous.

She crouched and grabbed the shrew. The apprentices stared at her. Smokepaw's amber eyes were dark and unreadable, but Strongpaw looked visibly irritated. Sablepaw retreated to her mentor's side. Meadowmist flattened her ears at the toms and hissed until they scurried away with their kills.

"Sablepaw," the white she-cat sighed. "Things would be so much easier if you didn't look so much like your mother."

Sablepaw took a small bite of her shrew, not daring to ask what Meadowmist meant by that flippant comment.

The sun had almost set in the sky by the time Morningstar decided to start the raid.. She relayed the morning's instructions once more. There was a feral gleam in her eyes as she hissed, _first blood is mine._

PureClan traveled through the outskirts of the city unscathed. Sablepaw grew used to the strange, square territories of the Twoleg nests, the wide Thunderpaths and their miniatures that sprawled beside them. Thick, heady scents clotted the air, but she put up with it, reasoning that it was only a part of the authentic experience. But beneath the greasy reek, they could only pick up stale traces of cat-scents.

They were in what appeared to be a working industry, with old warehouses, dark alleys and streets crammed with older, often abandoned buildings when the real excitement started.. Artifical light feebly illuminated dark streets. At first Sablepaw thought they were imprisoned stars, but their energy was to weak, too fleeting. They held nothing of the imperial beauty natural stars possessed. These were a cheap imitation. She was too busy studying the harnessed light to see the shadowy figures approaching.

Morningstar has seen them though; she halted and waved her Clan into the darkness of a side alley. She, however, remained on the street. To the approaching cats, she appeared alone. She hunched her shoulders and pressed herself against the paving. From Sablepaw's point of view, she could see the she-cat's eyes widen with 'fear'.

The figures drew into the pale light of a lamp. There were three of them; two toms and a slim she-cat. The leading tom was a large grey tabby, with bold black stripes snaking through his pelt. He was heavily scarred, as was his other male companion, a burly black beast. The she-cat, a faint cream tabby, was tiny. Her soft fur was filthy, smeared with mud and dirt. Scabs gleamed under her pelt.

"Well," the grey tabby drawled, flicking his gaze over Morningstar. "What do we have here, Orc?"

Orc snorted, shifting his heavy bulk from one black paw to another. With horror, Sablepaw that the right side of his face had been clawed away. All that remained was a mess of scarring, a pit where there had once been a round yellow eye.

"Dunno, Arseni, but it's a pretty one," he replied, his remaining eyes narrowing in a thuggish delight.

"What're you doin' out here, now?" Arseni purred, directing his attention at Morningstar. The golden she-cat didn't reply, but lowered his gave submissively.

"Don't you know it's...dangerous for such a beautiful she-cat to be out here at night..._alone?_" he asked. The pauses in his sentence seemed for effect rather than a difficulty in the ability to string the right words together.

Morningstar hesitated, nodded once. Arseni seemed to think it a great victory; his eyes glittered and he began to swagger forwards.

"Why don't we head over to my nest, a couple of blocks away? I'm sure Calla won't mind if she has to share Orc's-" Aresni never got the chance to finish his suggestion. Morningstar flew towards him in a golden blur, claws outstretched. Arseni yelped, gurgled, choked as she sank her her teeth into his throat. Orc snarled at the she-cat, slipping his talons out of their sheaths as he prepared to spring. His single eye was focused on Morningstar; he didn't see Thornstreak as he leapt out of the shadows. The PureClan tom tore into him with teeth and claws until all that remained was a bloodied heap of fur and bared flesh. Tornear raced out of the alley and knokced Calla, the cream tabby, to the ground.

"First blood tastes good," Morningstar commented, licking the red liquid off her paws before it could dry in messy clumps.

She stood up, stretched. "Split up," she commanded. "Hunt the Tainted down in pairs. Maim, injure, but don't kill if you can help it. Bring as many back here as you can. We'll be needing them later."

Somehow, Sablepaw found herself slinking through the shadows with Smokepaw. In the absence of another female apprentice she'd been forced to pair up with the grey tom. They both did their best to stoically ignore each other; she thought her earlier retort _I don't like either of you_- had wounded wasn't sure why.

"This way," Smokepaw murmured, ducking into a gap between two defaced old buildings. Sablepaw pricked her ears and darted after him. Another cat's scent hung thick in the air. After following a series of angry yowls, she found the grey apprentice cornering a bristling yellow tom.

"What?" the yellow tom hissed. "What did I do?" he asked, swiping at the air clumsily with one small paw. The blow never connected; like a grey shadow, Smokepaw dodged swiftly before streaking forwards and pinning the yellow tom to the red wall at the end of the alley. He held him there, a paw on his throat.

"What did I do?" he gasped again. "Are you one of Aresni's thugs? I followed his rules, kept off his turf and away from his she-cats-"

"Arseni's dead," Smokepaw interrupted. Relief blossomed in the tom's eyes, right before Smokepaw struck him a solid blow to the head. He crumpled to the ground, eyelids fluttering, a low moan issuing from his throat. His mouth hung half-open, revealing rows of jagged teeth coated in tartar.

"I'll take him back to Morningstar," Smokepaw said, stooping to clench the tom's scruff between his jaws. The yellow street cat was small, scrawny. Smokepaw could carry him with ease.

"Okay, I'll keep looking," Sablepaw replied, launching herself onto the top of a tall metal sphere. From there she jumped onto a pile of sodden boxes. An easy leapt later she perched on top of the brick wall that cleaved the ally in half. A flash of motion, a blur of grey attracted her gaze. She left Smokepaw to drag his captured Tainted back to their leader and leapt into the next alley. The imminent prospect of spilling Tainted blood pleased her.

Here, it reeked of Twolegs' garbage. Giant green boxes lined the walls, filled with junk, along with more metal spheres and abandoned boxes. The stench of rot and decay clung plaintively to the air.

Sablepaw hid in the the shadows, prowling forwards until her eyes caught a glimpse of a patch of grey. Without a thought, she darted towards it. The grey shape solidified into the form of a cat. It gasped- a very feminine sound- and tried to run. Sablepaw crashed into it with a snarl.

The other she-cat squealed and tried to throw her off. After a brief tussle, Sablepaw gained control and pinned her opponent to the ground.

With shock, her heart wrenching, she found herself staring down into Embertooth's green eyes.

* * *

**Whoo, big chapter! Any guesses as to who Sable's got pinned?**


	13. Green Eyes

"_Get off me!_" the grey she-cat spat, her green eyes burning into Sablepaw's. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could only stare into the furious pale pits.

_Mother,_ Sablepaw thought numbly- but this she-cat was clearly not Embertooth. They had the same thin, wiry build and slightly tufted, angular ears, but this cat's pelt was a sleek, light grey. Small streaks of duller black threaded through her fur. But her eyes, luminously green, were the same.

"Embertooth?" she asked suddenly, fervently hopeful. The she-cat didn't answer, only writhed harder under Sablepaw's frozen grip. Shock turned her muscles to ice; she feared if she moved, she'd shatter into a thousand brittle pieces.

"Wait. Stop. I won't hurt you," Sablepaw stuttered, forcing her stiff limbs backwards until she had climbed off the street cat. The grey feline wheezed and rolled to her paws, her tail trembling. She didn't flee, but gave Sablepaw a long, hard look. The fear in her pale emerald eyes had dissipated, to be replaced with curiosity. There were clear similarities between the two, and she could see them. Their build, their long, slim legs, thick fur, and startlingly green eyes. It seemed their only difference between them was the colour of their pelts- one a sleek grey, the other a deep black.

"Who _are _you?" the grey she-cat asked. Her voice was young- she could not be any older than Sablepaw.

"I'm Sablepaw," she said. She could see her reflection in a stagnant puddle lit by the harnessed artificial light. Beside her, her look-alike crouched. They were eerily similar.

"I'm Arrah," she mumbled, casting her eyes down to the still water, the lurking reflections. Sablepaw forgot entirely her purpose here; maim, maim, maim, kill. Her interest was snared otherwise.

She knew she'd be punished if she caught no Tainted, but there were sure to be plenty more roaming the city, hiding in the shadows.

"You look like me," Sablepaw blurted, unable to contain her thoughts any longer. Her mind was reeling. She couldn't possibly be _related_ to her- mating with Tainted was forbidden, an abhorrent crime. There was some reasonable explanation, she was sure. Arrah would reveal it all.

"I don't know my parents. I was raised by an alley cat," Arrah whispered, raising her eyes to stare at Sablepaw. There was hope in her eyes, a question, but only horror in the black apprentice's. Sudden realization had dawned on her.

"_You can't be_," Sablepaw breathed, the tip of her lashing tail hitting the water. The reflection shattered into fragments of colour.

"Can't be what?" Arrah asked sharply.

"My sister. It's not allowed. Morningstar would kill you."

"Morning-who? I don't really know what's going on, or what you're talking about, but it's evident that we share blood. You cannot deny it."

Sablepaw couldn't- she had no validity to claim anything else.

"Morningstar is the leader, of my Clan. It's a big group of cats, I guess. We have rules…and we're not allowed to talk to the Tainted-" she broke off, guiltily scuffing her paws against the dark wet pavement.

"Me? I'm not Tainted, I'm healthy," Arrah muttered, glancing down at the rippling puddle, where she could faintly see her trembling shape.

Sablepaw didn't answer, didn't bother; she was too busy wondering how – _how_- Arrah could be her sister. She did not remember her own birth. She'd been far too young, more of a lump of flesh and fur that mewled and demanded milk and warmth more than a conscious, living creature. She did not remember the sister that had been cruelly torn from Embertooth, to be dumped in the raging river. But she did remember Rainkit, and how she had suddenly disappeared, without warning or rational thought right after Strongpaw had been born.

She remembered Sorrelstorm, his hollow eyes, his relief when Morningstar told him her kit would live.

"Do you…remember our camp? The forest?" she asked tentatively.

"No…I told you, a street cat- Mia- raised me. She told me she wasn't my mother, and how she found me in the creek beside the city. She said I was half-drowned, almost dead…was it your Morningstar that did this?" Arrah asked.

Her heart sinking, burdened with a new fear of the tyrannical golden she-cat, Sablepaw nodded mutely.

Arrah frowned. "Why would she do that? I didn't hurt her. She didn't even know me."

"It's just...what we do," Sablepaw replied, her ears flattened. "What PureClan does. I can't help it."

"She wouldn't take me back, would she?' Arrah asked, twitching her whiskers broodingly.

"No. It would mess up her pretty little system. Besides, you don't _want_ to live with us. It's awful. _She's_ awful. All she wants to do is kill and kill and kill some more."

Sablepaw stopped speaking abruptly- a little too late, her secretive instincts were kicking in. Arrah's head was quirked; she watched her sister through narrowed, gleaming green eyes.

"Why don't you run away?" Arrah asked, an open invitation in her eyes. _Why don't you run away and live with me?_

"I can't," Sablepaw murmured. The mere prospect terrified her. "My father, my brother, friends, S-" Again, she broke off. There was no rational need to finish that sentence, and she hadn't even been sure what she was going to say.

_Strongpaw..?_

_Or...Smokepaw?_

_"_I don't understand," Arrah growled, expression lost and plaintive. She ignored her sister's incomplete sentence and looked as if she was going to say more. As her mouth opened, a questioning yowl split the cold night air.

"Sablepaw, where are you?"

" In the name of StarClan!" Sablepaw hissed, flicking a furtive glance over her shoulder. Could she see smoldering amber eyes in the darkness?

"Who is it?" Arrah whispered, slowly rising to her paws, backing cautiously into the shadows.

"It's PureClan. You have to go- run, as far as you can, as fast as you can. Don't stop until you've reached the other side of the Twolegplace. If my Clan catches you... they will hunt you down and tear you to shreds."

She hated to be blunt, but Arrah's life was on the line. Her only sister could be destroyed in front of her- all that would save her was fleeing.

"Sablepaw-" she whimpered, but the black she-cat cut her off.

"I'm sorry, Arrah, but you have to go. _Go,"_ she commanded. The grey cat shot her one last, fleeting look, full of all sorts of Tainted emotions, before racing out of the alley, fake light dappling her fur. A heartbeat later, Smokepaw leapt from the brick wall and landed beside Sablepaw. He stared at her, not speaking, his round dark eyes knowing.

"She was my sister, Smokepaw. My sister," she whispered, staring after her retreating grey pelt. Only then did she remember Smokepaw had been Rainkit's brother. _He_ understood- felt her pain.

"I know, Sablepaw," he replied quietly, resting his head over hers, saying nothing more.

* * *

**Yikes, what a bad chapter for such a long wait! XD Sorry. Swifteh promises to to better next time. She's been busy with forums, and her own forum has moved up to page 4 despite having only 5ish members!**

**So...who guessed it was Sablepaw's sister, hmm? Kudos to you!**

**Next chapter will have a little more action, I promise.**

**And...we're only 18 reviews away from 100!**


	14. Raw Heart, Red Paws

She stiffened when she felt Smokepaw pull away. His ears were cautiously pricked, warm eyes round and wary. Sablepaw opened her mouth and tasted the the smoggy city air. Could she catch the scent of forests, leaves and blood?

"I don't see anymore Tainted around here," Smokepaw said loudly, backing away another step. A moment later, in a golden blur, Morningstar leapt over the wall.

"Well," she purred, landing smoothly beside Sablepaw. "Well, well, well. I see you haven't caught a Tainted yet." She shook her head, eyes full of a mocking disappointment.

"Actually," Smokepaw interjected. "She helped me catch that tom."

Morningstar ignored him and quirked her head at the black apprentice.

"Isn't it lucky I've found you a scent to track? Now, follow me," she commanded, turning around. She scaled the wall with a giant leap; she didn't quite make it to the top and hauled herself the rest of the way up with her claws.

Sablepaw, not feeling so confident in her physical abilities, took a different route and jumped onto the round metal cylinder and onto the wall. She was keenly aware of Smokepaw jumping up behind her, how fluidly his muscles rolled beneath his sleek pelt, the way he watched her with a sly, sideways stare.

_StarClan help me_, she thought, insides twisting, as she scrambled off the wall onto the other side, following Morningstar. _I'm a mousebrain. Such a stupid, stupid mousebrain._

The leader turned sharply out of the alley and began to trot down the deserted Thunderpath. Sablepaw loped to catch up with her, but the male apprentice hung warily behind. A hazy drizzle began to fall.

The golden she-cat puffed out her fur with a contemptuous shudder.

"Not too much further," she commented as she boldly strode across an intersecting Thunderpath. "I hope."

Sablepaw didn't reply; she only stared at the grimacing leader, wondering how many kits just like Arrah had been sentenced to death just because they did not fit with Morningstar's plans.

Arrah, one.

Rainkit, two.

Had there been any from Swanpath's litter?

A chilling thought sent a jolt down her spine._ Will they take kits from my litter, too? Send them out to die, just like my poor sister?_

How many kits survived?

The black she-cat felt sick, but she forced herself to trot faster after Morningstar. She shoved all thoughts of dead kits aside, pushed the image Sorrelstorm and his hollow, haunted gaze out of her mind.

She didn't let herself think about Smokepaw, his warm eyes, his silent comfort.

She didn't let herself think about the grim task ahead or the blood she would have to wash off her paws in the morning.

…

Morningstar tasted the air; it was thick, heady, and smelled of the city's numerous Thunderpaths.

The golden she-cat hated the Twolegplace; she always had. It reeked, it crawled with Twolegs, and the unsanitary type of cats had taken to haunting its alleys and hidden niches.

Cats just like that crude tom who'd approached her. What had he called himself? Arseni? Arseni and his dumb, brutish thug. Had they scratched on their scars themselves just to appear tough?

Morningstar smirked to herself and waved Sablepaw forwards.

"You can start tracking it now," she told the apprentice. Smokepaw stopped behind the leader, and she took a moment to study his muscles, his strong build. If he was as thick as his sullen silence suggested, he'd be the perfect minoin warrior.

Sablepaw opened her mouth and cautiously scented the air. With determination glinting in her eyes, she began to follow the trail.

Morningstar chirruped to herself and motioned for Smokepaw to follow. She _did_ love a good show.

…

His night vision had never been very good; he squinted as he tried to spot Sablepaw's black pelt slink through the shadows. The glowing orbs stationed at posts every few fox-lengths did help, but his feeble eyes were too weak to see very far in the dark.

Smokepaw contented himself to follow Morningstar. She was easy to spot; a flare of gold and tawny amid the darkness. She carried herself with a regal air. It was almost impossible to miss her.

Morningstar stopped and Smokepaw nearly collided with her haunches. He tried to halt as silently as he could, but his claws slid on the slick pavement and a small, surprised oof escaped his mouth.

The golden leader turned to him, teeth bared in an audible hiss. Her narrowed eyes conveyed a message she dared not speak- she'd ruin the chase, StarClan forbid. The anger was not subtle; he could easily imagine the gist of what she wanted to tell him. It probably included insults such as _moron, idiot, dirt-for-brains_, and _fool_. Most importantly, _shut up_, but that was too harmless a command to pass from the livid she-cat's mouth alone.

She took her raiding very seriously. That small fact was evident.

The grey tom shifted his attention to Sablepaw. She crouched in the shade, tail twining with the shadows. He could see a sliver of her fire-filled green eyes, wide and watching. It made his heart twist; he longed for what he could not he have.

He snuck a sly glance at Morningstar, who was waiting with a look of half-disguised expectant delight on her face. There was a chance- a speck of a chance- that he and Sablepaw could be paired. Then again, the chances that they wouldn't…

There was a small sound, a scuff of paws against the rough ground. Smokepaw's breath caught; he stared with disbelief at the Tainted Morningstar had picked for Sablepaw to tackle.

She was going to fight..._that_?

Sablepaw, to her credit, did not flinch as the Tainted lumbered into view. The visible sliver of her eye widened, almost imperceptibly, and her tail whipped the air as she tensed to spring.

Her target was an enormous tabby tom with puckered scars in place of stripes. He had a rounded, thick-skulled head with large amber eyes and a wide maw bristling with jagged yellow fangs. His long tail stirred the air as he shambled down the Thunderpath; it was as thick as Sablepaw's foreleg. The small she-cat herself stood no higher than his wide chest.

Sablepaw sank further into her crouch. Her flanks trembled and she took a deep, steadying breath.

Morningstar's ears twitched as she held in a gleeful giggle while she watched the black she-cat.

Smokepaw stared at Sablepaw, feeling terror in each dull thump of his heart, every beat a repeated plea of a single word._ Don't, don't don't, don't._

And then she leapt.

* * *

**I know I'm mean. I know.**

**Anyway...104 reviews! :3 Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed my story so far- it makes my day.**

**Sorry for the wait, I'll try to get another chapter out soon amidst working on several challenges.**

**(Anyone notice a difference?)**


	15. The Monster In The Dark

For a moment, for a brief and wonderful moment, she was flying. There was wind in her fur, feeble lights glowing above her head, her large shambling target set in front of her outstretched claws.

And then instead of flying she was falling, falling towards the tabby tom, who had turned with surprising swiftness towards her, and waited for her with an open mouth filled with jagged teeth.

Sablepaw landed on the tom's back, and sank in her claws. Her aim had been off, but that was all right; if she'd landed where she'd planned, it would've been into the tabby's waiting jaws.

Without waiting for the tom to move- he was going to drop and roll over, she could tell, simply because of the subtle tensing of his muscles- Sablepaw leapt off and flicked a piece of fur from her claws as she landed. She shook the rain out of her fur impatiently and sank into a crouch. The Tainted looked momentarily confused; who was his mysterious attacker, and where had she gone? Then his wide eyes swung and focused on her.

"What's the matter, pretty kitty?" she asked, tauntingly, feinting a dart to the left and then striking a blow to his thickly padded right. In the corner of her vision, she could see Morningstar, grinning smugly in the shadows. She, at least, seemed pleased. The apprentice, however, was daunted by the tabby's sheer size and the blubber on his bones.

"Who are you-" the Tainted began to growl, before Sablepaw's claws nicked his throat. It was only a shallow nick on the the lump of lard he had for a neck, but at least it seemed to distract him and the blood beginning to seep onto his fur added a nice contrast to his dull pelt.

Sablepaw considered a reply- something grand yet vague, like _no one of consequence_ or _a crusader against the tide of poison_- but she had no time for snippy remarks. The tom was barrelling towards her. Each step elicited a grunt out of the fat alley cat, but he could cover ground _fast_.

Sablepaw sprang nimbly out of his path, but she had become too confident. The tom whirled and lashed out a meaty paw, tripping her back legs and knocking her to the wet and gritty ground. She yowled in rage, but the Tainted hadn't finished with her yet. With a speed belied by his bulk, he pounced on her and raked his long talons down in ribs. Flesh and fur parted beneath their thorn-sharp touch and blood began to well in the wounds.

He began to smirk but Sablepaw, ignoring the pain in her side, twisted out of his grip and rolled to her paws.

_StarClan help me_, she thought, dodging a heavy blow, _he's a beast!_

The tom leapt at her, and Sablepaw took the opportunity to slide beneath him and swept her claws down his belly. He let out an angry, guttural roar as he landed, and stumbled.

Sablepaw performed her leap-and-hold maneuver again, only this time she hung grimly on for longer and sunk her teeth into one of his large ears. She held onto until she felt his legs begin to buckle, but only jumped vertically into the air. She landed on his belly as he rolled and plunged her claws into the layers of fat that lay beneath his mangy pelt.

The tom gasped, and his breath rushed out of his mouth in a pungent cloud that reeked of rotten fish and crowfood. Sablepaw wrinkled her nose, raked her claws across his pink nose and sprang away.

"Little she-cat got 'er some claws," he snarled, lumbering to her paws. "She got 'er some fight. But what's she got against me?"

Sablepaw backed off a small grey ledge and onto a darker, rougher surface. She waved her tail in the air above her head and snapped in a cold voice, "Let's see, then."

The tom grimaced and took a step. Sablepaw was pleased to see the blood the dripped from his wounds, and backed up a few more paces to give the tom more false confidence.

He leapt for her then, or tried to; he missed and crashed heavily to the ground beside her. Sablepaw rammed her chest into him and latched her fangs into his shoulder. The Tainted hissed, rolled, and trapped her beneath his bulk. There was no gradual increase in pressure; all the air was crushed out of her small body in one painful exhale.

Sablepaw couldn't see Morningstar, or even Smokepaw. There were black spots beginning to dot her vision, and she knew she was going to die.

Without strategy or plan, Sablepaw began to flail and squirm her way out of his grip. The water on her sleek pelt helped, and she was nearly free when a pair of bright yellow lights started to roar towards them.

The Tainted froze, but she, not understanding, only knowing that the lights hurt her eyes and she needed to get away, continued to struggle. Maybe if she'd known, she too would have froze and stared into the bright blind eyes of her rapidly approaching doom. Maybe it was her ignorance that had saved her; maybe it was the fear scent the frozen tom was emitting that fueled her own inner panic.

As it was, the silver monster only clipped her, and threw her against the side of the Thunderpath. Yet even that hurt; the smallest, slightest of its touches had caused a haze of pain. She was immobilized; the agony had seized her muscles and turned her to stone. She lay on the black surface, twitching, gasping, trying to breath, trying to escape the pain that blossomed in her chest, her leg, her ribs, her head. But she had been lucky.

The Tainted tom lay still too, but this was a deathly still. He did not stirr, and his flanks did not twitch with laboured breath. In fact, the force of impact had nearly cleaved him in half. Sablepaw found herself looking at the grisly scene, taking in the blurred details with a detached curiosity, simply because she could not turn her head away. The rain continued to fall; it felt nice, soothing, on her burning feverish pelt. Was she burning? Or was it a stinging cold? She couldn't remember; couldn't care. The _pain _mattered- only the pain, and trying not to scream.

"-but we can't just leave her there!"

Voices? _Go away, voices. Leave me alone. Do I deserve at least that?_

"She'll just die anyway. There's no point Smokepaw. Why do you care?"

"Because no one deserves to die like that! We can help her."

There was a low growl, the sound of a scuffle. A dark voice, snarling, "Did I hear compassion in your voice? Are you using the weapons of a Tainted? Are you _weak_?"

"No!" Smokepaw snapped. "But listen to this; if she dies, if we leave her here, she'll mess up your perfect plans. Who will you pair to who, now? Why leave a warrior of PureClan behind- if she survives, won't she be another tool for you to use, another cat to raise the next generation of crusaders?"

_Shut up,_ Sablepaw grumbled inwardly.

"Yes," Morningstar said shortly. "I see your point."

And then, she felt teeth bite down on her scruff. In a burst of agony, she was lifted off the cool ground onto the strong shoulders of another cat where it was impossible to hold back her shrieks.

...

Time. She knew that it passed, down in her tiny dark painless pit, but she also knew that she did not care. Time was an ageless, eternal creature, and she had forever to wallow in her dark oblivion.

As her memories drifted languidly back, she knew other things; she knew pain, she knew the misty touch of rain on her pelt, she knew that she moved, carried on the back of another sleek-furred cat. She knew her forever was over; she had to return to the agonising reality.

Sablepaw cracked open a bleary eye. She couldn't see much; a dark sky, looming rows of dark buildings, the yellow blur of harnessed light, a glimpse of golden fur.

Involuntarily, she groaned. Her whole body was an aching bruise, but her head was a maelström that howled and thumped and hissed, and her right front leg screamed with pain. Over top of that, the cuts and scratches stung, and a bite mark on her chest refused to stop its irritating itch. The scent of blood covered her fur.

"Shhh," a voice snarled, and a thick tail whipped against her head. The body of the cat beneath her tensed, and the muscles hummed with a silent growl.

_Smokepaw_, she realized, sighting his sodden grey pelt out of the corner of her eyes. Later she'd be embarrassed it was direct contact with a cat of the opposite sex, of course, in front of her _leader_- but now, she felt nothing but her pain and an icy emotional numbness. She closed her eyes again.

Then there were voices. Shocked voices, curious voices, voices voices voices. They were all around her, echoing her ears, making her head erupt with pain at their mere loud proximity.

"Back off," a new voice snapped. It was a soft voice, and not used to giving harsh commands, but it worked. The other voices retreated, and she felt herself sliding off Smokepaw's back onto the wet ground. She gasped as her leg struck the pavement, and her head made a ringing contact with a thunk.

"Sorry," Smokepaw muttered.

"I didn't bring any helpful herbs with me. We'll have to get her back to camp; now." This was the soft voice, and it did not sound confident or authoritative in the least.

"Of course. As soon as Thornstreak and Sedgewing return, we will leave. We've collected enough Tainted anyway and I dare say we'll find some on the way back. Now, leave us. I'll stay with her and make sure she remains...alive." That was Morningstar speaking, in her favourite regal tone.

With an audible scuff of paws, the two toms retreated. Morningstar took a seat in front of Sablepaw.

Maybe moments, maybe minutes later, another cat approached Morningstar. He brought with him a mingled scent of blood and fear.

"Thornstreak," the golden she-cat murmured. "Is it done?"

Her father's sullen dark voice replied, "I did what you asked; of course it is."

Morningstar sighed; a long, received sound. Then she climbed to her paws and cried hoarsely, "Sedgewing! Sedgewing is dead!"

* * *

**Lololol. I'm so evil, aren't I? Well...at least she's not _dead_ (yet).**

**Yes, Sedgewing has a reason for being dead.**

**And yes! I changed TPappy's font using a site called mallubar or something. I also changed my penname. Swiftehstar- Swyfte.**


	16. Strength

"D'you smell that?" Sedgewing asked, wrinkling his nose in typical PureClan distaste.

Thornstreak, scenting a Tainted on the slight breeze, nodded mutely. Together the two toms crossed the thin Thunderpath, skirting the grimy puddles with frowns. Rain slicked their pelts and ran in rivulets down Thornstreak's tabby stripes.

Far away, a siren wailed and a cat shrieked. It almost made Thornstreak pause. It sounded so young and feminine, so full of pain, and for a moment, he thought it could've been Sablepaw. The warrior brushed aside the thought; she was a good fighter, fierce and cunning. Nothing could touch her. She was stronger than her mother.

"Down here," Sedgewing murmured, scurrying into an alley.

She was stronger than her father.

"Don't rush into a trap," Thornstreak cautioned; his warning was sickly ironic.

Sedgewing's creamy tail twitched and he murmured, "We can handle it."

_There's no we. Just you, and me. And then soon, me alone._ He grunted in reply and tasted the air again.

Sablepaw was simply _better_ than him.

"Up here," Sedgewing commanded, leaping lithely up onto a row of spiked wooden planks. Thornstreak followed him without a word; if the other tom noticed his silent state, he did not comment.

The creamy patched tom hissed and shook his paw, before ducking his head to pull a small splinter from the pad of his paw. It was a perfect opportunity, but Thornstreak let is pass. Morningstar would be angry if he returned without a Tainted, and Sedgewing was the best tracker in the Clan.

_But not for long._

The other tom finally straightened up and began to pick his way over the pointed planks of wood.

"She's down here," he murmured, reaching a junction between the wooden fence and a wall of mismatched red rocks. He jumped off the fence and landed with a small huff; Thornstreak was silent as he joined him in the kittypet Tainted's tiny territory. The Twoleg den was brightly lit and yellow light spilled across the short green grass. a border of crusty dirt framed the grass, but there were no trees or plants.

Sedgewing darted into the shadow of the rock wall, and gestured impatiently with his tail for the tabby to do the same.

"We have to wait for it to come out," he whispered, his eyes drifting to stare at one of the transparent coverings illuminated by the false sunlight.

"How long?" asked Thornstreak; partly because he was bored and partly because he felt he should say something, anything. Sedgewing's last hour should not be lonely.

At this, the patched warrior turned to stare at him, a gleeful light glimmering in his eyes- _all_ warriors loved to kill, to chase and taunt. The leader's pair was no exception.

"We could lure it out," he suggested slyly, climbing to his paws. He darted toward the Twoleg den and stopped beside the tallest covering. Thornstreak had to strain to hear the sound coming out of his mouth; a small, piteous mewl.

He shrank into the shadows as a face appeared at the covering. It was a wide face, pale grey in colour, with a pair of strikingly blue eyes. It pushed its way through a filmy flap attached to the covering and onto the dewy lawn.

"Hello?" the grey tabby asked, taking another step onto the lawn.

Thornstreak's eyes met Sedgewing's, and he understand what the other warrior wanted him to do.

A breathy whine wound out of his throat, and she-cat took a step in his direction. Another, and another. She squinted into the darkness, but her bright eyes were not wary.

Thornstreak slunk further into the shadows and the she-cat followed.

"Who's there?" she asked. "If you're hurt, my housefolk can help you-" her words were cut off as Sedgewing leapt on her back. Instead, she let out a wail of terror and collapsed on the ground. He growled and raked his claws down her back.

Thornstreak rushed out of the shadows and shoved him off.

"What are you doing?" Sedgewing snarled, landing on his back. "Have you gone soft?"

"Leader's orders," Thornstreak growled back. "And quite frankly, I never liked you, brother."

Morningstar had not wanted a quick, easy death, but Thornstreak insisted on it. It was a condition, he said, and to his surprise, she agreed. He found his teeth bared, and he lunged, sinking his teeth into the cream tom's neck. Sedgewing tried to hiss at him, but all his efforts achieved were bubbles of blood that spilled out of his mouth.

Confident that his death was imminent, he turned and fixed the grey she-cat with a cold stare.

"You're coming with me," he snapped, and it wasn't a question. Sedgewing gurgled behind them.

She averted her pretty blue eyes and rolled to her paws with a whimper. Thornstreak roughly nudged her to the fence.

The Tainted tried to talk with him as they travelled, tried to plead with him to let her go, but he ignored her. He'd just killed his littermate, after all, and deserved to be dwelt on, brooded over, for at least a few moments.

…

"Thornstreak," Morningstar murmured, her breath warm against his ear. "Is it done?"

_Is the scent of blood on my fur not enough?_ "I did what you asked; of course it is," he muttered. He'd returned to the rendezvous alley with the tabby she-cat in tow. She crouched a few feet away, shivering, blood matting her once-sleek fur. The other cats were gathered in a circle a few fox lengths away; it their center the captured Tainted huddled.

Tornear rose and shoved the kittypet into the ring.

Morningstar's shoulders slumped and a breathy sigh of relief passed her lips. She slow rose to her paws before crying, "Sedgewing! Sedgewing is dead! My pair has been killed!"

The raiding party looked up at her, murmuring their regrets, but no true sadness shone in their eyes.

Morningstar turned back to him, tail tip winding in the air. "By the way, I think your daughter is dying."

Thornstreak felt his mouth drop open in shock, before he remembered to close it.

"She what?" he didn't reply- she was too busy masking her happiness- and simply pointed to a limp black shape lying in a corner.

The tabby tom forced himself to take slow, clam steps toward his prone daughter. Sorrelstorm sat in front of her, chewing on a leaf and pasting green gunk on a scratch on her flank.

"What happened?" Thornstreak asked woodenly, taking a seat at Sablepaw's head. She looked twisted, ruined; blood clumped in her pelt, and her hind leg was bent, _bent_ into a horrible angle, white bone poking through the black-and-crimson- fur and flesh.

"Monster," Smokepaw said. Thornstreak started; he hadn't seen the young tom sitting in the shadows.

Sorrelstorm nodded and spat out a glob of chewed-up leaves. "Now that you're back, we can start heading back to the territory. She needs proper treatment and we can only get that back at camp."

Thornstreak looked away from Sablepaw, at the cats starting to climb to their paws at the word of Morningstar. She shot him a glance and motioned impatiently for him move."

"I'll carry her," Thornstreak murmured.

"Me too," Smokepaw volunteered.

_You're playing a dangerous game_, Thornstreak thought warningly, but he let Sorrelstorm drape the injured apprentice over their shoulders.

_I played that game and I lost._

"To me, PureClan!" Morningstar yowled, darting out of the damp alley.

Thornstreak followed, taking the broken body of his only daughter home, fur brushing against the pelt of a tom who did not know what a mess he had created.


	17. Not innocent- Tainted

PureClan made it back without incident or interruption, much to Morningstar's pouting disappointment. That put her in a foul mood; when they left a crippled Tainted tom behind, that only worsened it. Pepperpaw made sure to keep a careful distance away from the skulking she-cat. Just to make up for the lack of blood loss, she was liable to attack anything- even one of her own cats.

The sky darkened to match Morningstar's mood, and by the time the raiding party reached their forest, a light drizzle had begun to fall. The Tainted looked absolutely miserable; half-dead on their paws. Their pelts, crusted with blood, began to run red and the rain washed their wounds.

Pepperpaw tried not to look at the Tainted. The she-cat he'd caught was a skinny tabby, with dark, sombre amber eyes. Each of her ribs could be counted, but her stomach was swollen/ Pepperpaw had the distinct impression she was carrying kits; maybe that was why she hadn't put up much of a fight.

Instead of looking at the shambling prisoners, Pepperpaw stared at his sister. She twitched on Thornstreak's back and a paw flung over Smokepaw's shoulder flexed, curled, and unfurled. He hoped that the small piece of white gainst her sodden black fur was only fat or gristle; it seemed for likely to be bone. The whispers said she'd been hit by a monster, but she was the lucky one.

_She was fighting a Tainted_, the rumors said, _a massive Tainted, a great brute with eagle's talons for claws. They rolled onto the road and didn't see the monster- their doom- approaching. The force of it threw Sablepaw into the air and tore the giant tom in half. _

_She'll be a cripple_, the gossipers murmured. _A useless cripple. We all know what Morningstar does to _them.

In the middle of the forest, the medicine cat, Thornstreak, Smokepaw and Sablepaw split from the group and returned to camp. It was evidently, obviously, painfully clear that the injured black apprentice needed proper treatment. The other raiders herded their Tainted, heedless of thorns, brambles or undergrowth, towards their designated prison.

When the reached it, the sun was not visible through the dripping as it reached its pinnacle; the clouds had blocked it and its welcome warmth from sight.

"Finally," Morningstar grumbled, as they reached the edge of the forest and stepped out of the shadows. "I thought we'd never get here." This last sentence was accompanied by a glower at her warriors.

_Here_ was not much. At first glance, with an untrained eye, all that could be seen was a large pile of assorted rocks. If you looked hard enough, if you knew what it was that you were looking for, then perhaps you might see the hole in the shadows. It was located at the foot of the pile, and it was no bigger than a tail-length across.

One by one, the Tainted were shoved into the dank hole into a musty and cramped underground cave. Morningstar licked one golden paw and drew it over her pricked ears, eyes cold and uncaring. When a small tabby tom broke away from the huddle and dashed towards the forest, it was the leader herself who leapt after him.

She bowled him over, snarling, and plunged her claws into his exposed throat as he squealed.

"We didn't need him," she growled, licking the blood off her sleek fur. When Pepperpaw swallowed, his tongue felt furry and thick. He'd never seen such callous killing before, such brutal waste of innocent life. He hardly remembered his first execution, but somehow it seemed to pale in comparison. His death had _meant _something- this one was because of Morningstar's restless angst, her needless thirst to kill.

_No, _he reminded himself harshly. They weren't innocent; they were Tainted, and that made all the difference in the world. And if Morningstar had to kill something, he'd rather she sate her thirst on a measly Tainted than a PureClan warrior. When it came his turn to shove his own prisoner into the cave, he hardened his heart and avoided her terrified amber eyes. She landed with a small squeak, curled around her stomach.

He hoped the kits were stillborn.

The afternoon light was fading as they returned. The forest- their entire territory, in fact- felt smaller; dwarfed by the enormous Twolegplace. Anything could look small compared next to its expanse.

Pepperpaw finally shambled back into camp, yawning, to a cold and quiet reunion. No cat cheered; the kits seemed to be the only ones who were happy; they bounded up to Strongpaw- their burly masculine hero- and demanded to know how many he'd killed.

"More than I could count on my claws," the tabby-and-white tom boasted.

Morningstar strolled into her den below the knoll and dragged out Iceface by his scruff. Hiding a smirk, Pepperpaw grabbed a starling from the fresh kill pile and pretended to devour it while watching the pair.

"Have you messed up my nest?" she hissed, tail lashing. She didn't ask about the welfare of her Clan. She was (loudly) confident about PureClan's prowess in managing themselves. They'd come so far from weak, snivelling mouse-hearts.

Smokepaw flopped down beside Pepperpaw, watching the spectacle. There was blood on his pelt; his sister's blood, the tabby tom realized suddenly. If the other apprentice was so calm, it at least meant that she hadn't died.

"I know I left you in charge! I _didn't_ tell you to utilise my den!"

"How is she?" Pepperpaw asked quietly.

Twitching an ear to show he'd heard, Smokepaw paused for a moment before replying, "She's fine now, I think. Specklefrost is treating her now. She shooed me away pretty quickly, but Sparkpaw said she'd be all right."

"You can return to _your own_ nest now, in _your own_ den. I have an announcement to make."

Disgruntled, Iceface stalked away, and didn't see the glare his leader shot him.

Morningstar called the meeting without her usual grand voice.

She took her time before she spoke, resting her gaze on each of her warriors, her eyes gleaming.

At last she announced, "Sedgewing is dead."

The crowd did not react. One or two cats murmured to their neighbours, but the rest stared at her with blank eyes that said, _yeah, so?_

"Of course that leaves me without a pair. For a leader, than is unacceptable and must be immediately rectified. My medicine cats have agreed with me and said StarClan encourages the match between Thornstreak and myself."

Pepperpaw felt a curious shock.

_Father's Morningstar's pair?_

He didn't fear the sly golden she-cat; to the tabby apprentice, she posed no danger, no threat. For all of PureClan's bloodthirst and violence, he was soft. That was the difference between his sister and himself; she recognized the leader's malignancy, felt that things weren't quite right, sensed the undercurrent of lies that cascaded from her grinning mouth.

_That's awesome_, Pepperpaw thought, hiding a smug purr.

Ultimately, it was going to get her killed.

* * *

**Just a bit of a filler before we get back to Smoke and Sable fluff. But for now, hoped you enjoyed darling Pepper's POV. This chapter probably would've been up sooner if I wasn't working on a little dire wolf cult-worship pack thingy. If it distracts me from TPappy….sorry! (In advance.)**

**Um, to conclude my rambling, 152 reviews! Woot!**

**Oh, btw, do you all like the new cover? I sorta made it myself.**


	18. Her Simple Things

A mouse beside her paw. Sweet-smelling herbs sticking to her fur. Smokepaw's scent in her nose. It was the simple things she felt first; the simple things that brought her back to life.

She ate the mouse, groomed the herbs from her matting pelt, savoured the forest-and-earth scent that belonged uniquely to her favourite tom.

When she was capable of complex things such as listening, talking, questioning, Specklefrost began to grill her for her memories, and patched up the gaps in her mental timeline with a story so impossible, so terrifying and inspiring, that it could not possibly involve her. The medicine cat insisted that it did.

She'd sat down one afternoon- sun-high, if anything was to be judged by the golden light that trickled through the den roof's leafy canopy- and asked the apprentice what she remembered from her 'incident'.

"We went on a raid," Sablepaw replied slowly, sifting through a jumble of memories. Nothing was clear, certain. Everything was so confusing, she wanted to return to her simple things once more.

"And?" Specklefrost prompted.

"We killed some Tainted?" Sablepaw guessed. "Wait, no- maimed. Morningstar wouldn't let us kill them outright if we could help it. She didn't say why." Then she blinked, surprised at herself. For a moment, the petty details had become clear.

"There's more, isn't there?" Specklefrost said, staring into Sablepaw's pale green eyes, willing her to remember.

"I think. Smokepaw and I...we caught a Tainted. Well, he did. I think I just stood there and looked tough. And then…" She paused, remembering Arrah, unwilling to reveal that Embertooth's unlucky, doomed third daughter was not, in fact, dead.

"Then?" Specklefrost asked impatiently.

"Morningstar appeared. She seemed annoyed that I hadn't caught one myself and found a scent trail for me to follow. In the end it lead to a big fat tom. I thought he'd be easy, but he knew how to fight. We tumbled onto the Thunderpath...he trapped me...I saw lights, and I tried to get away...I couldn't."

Sablepaw shuddered. She didn't want to remember anymore, but the words, tasting their freedom, kept flowing.

"I got knocked aside, but the tom...it just ran over him, crushed him...cut him in two. I saw his dead eyes, staring into mine-"

"That's enough," Specklefrost interrupted. "I don't need the gruesome details. Now, I'm going to tell you what happened while you healed."

Sablepaw glanced at what had been the wreck of her body. She was indeed healing; small scars littered her pelt, shiny and new; poultices were plastered add odd individuals over her sides. Her leg was secured between two straight sticks with vines and cobwebs. A ring of flesh encircled where the bone must have poked through the skin.

"You've had a fever, for about a moon or so; you dreamt and slept, and woke sometimes, mumbling nonsense, but you will not remember any of it. Such is the nature of fever. The break in your leg was bad, but it will be healed soon. You've had many small wounds but the minority is healed and you should be training again within the moon."

Sablepaw looked at her leg again, and gave it a testing twitch. There was pain, yes, but in a subtle twinging form. This was not the agony she'd endured before, not the burning sensation the coaxed screams from her throat.

"I have another question," Specklefrost murmured, leaning in and brushing her nose against Sablepaw's ear.

Sablepaw paused, and felt a chill running down her spine. The medicine cat's blue eyes wanted answers, answers that the apprentice could not give.

"Who is Arrah, and why did you keep telling her to run?"

"It must h-have been a dream," Sablepaw stuttered. "I don't know anyone called Arrah. You said I mumbled nonsense, right?"

Specklefrost drew back, twitching her whiskers in agreement. "Of course. How silly of me; for a moment I thought you were fraternizing with the unsanitary kind- the Tainted."

"Never,"Sablepaw growled, lashing her tail, as if just hearing the word evoked her 'hatred'. As is being accused of such vile acts was an offence.

The tabby she-cat nodded her approval. 'That's good. Fever dreams are the oddest things, aren't they? So confusing. Sometimes they make us forget our own loyalties and restraints, but you remember, don't you, Sablepaw? You're a smart one."

Sablepaw sensed the deeper meaning behind the words, and too afraid of her belying voice, she simply nodded in return.

Specklefrost gave a small purr and turned away, sweeping some stray leaves back into organised piles.

"That's good. No more fever dreams from you, understand?" she asked, dusting off a small collection of black seeds with her tail.

"I understand," Sablepaw murmured, hunching her shoulders and pressing herself against the moss nest beneath her.

"And Sablepaw?" the medicine cat asked for a final time, turning to stare at her, small traces of concern in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember Smokepaw carrying you back from the Twolegplace, and giving you prey?" Specklefrost said.

"Yeah."

"No, you don't."

Sablepaw looked away, twitching an ear to show she'd heard, and stared at the grass tunnel. It lead to the outside world; according to Specklefrost, she hadn't been out there in at least a moon. She focused on that, on the thought of freedom and drinking in fresh, clean air, instead of what Specklefrost could do with the dangerous information she'd gleaned.

…

When someone finally arrived to escort her outside- a full two days later- it was no one glamourous; only her mentor Meadowmist.

"I caught three Tainted," the white she-cat boasted, as she helped Sablepaw climb from her nest. Her limbs were stiff, and protested bitterly alongside the pain in her leg, but she ignored the discomforts and began to hobble into the tunnel, leaning heavily on the warrior's shoulder.

"And killed another with nothing but your claws," Specklefrost finished sourly. "We know, you've told us ten times over already."

Was there envy in the tabby she-cat's voice? As she hobbled, the apprentice took a moment to wonder if the medicine cat hadn't wanted the path fate dictated she take- fate, or Morningstar? Had she wanted to be a warriors, to destroy PureClan's enemies and provide kits to teach and mentor? She'd never had the choice, but perhaps she didn't want to heal. To cram herself into the small stuffy old den, day after day, sorting bitter-and-sweet herbs for hours on end, treating the wounds of her Clanmates that she thought she should have born...was that the life she would have picked for herself?

No, whispered a voice in her head, ringing with certainty. She has the spirit, the cunning of a warrior. She does not want to be Specklefrost; she wants to be Specklestar.

"My success deserves to be known," Meadowmist snapped, as she left the den. "How many Tainted did you kill?"

Sablepaw felt Speckelfrost's heated glare, most likely aimed at the pompous white warrior, but she ignored it. It wasn't her problem, after all, and by that point, she'd taught herself not to care about the other cats' welfare.

Sablepaw sighed with relief as they exited the grass tunnel and merged into the bright sunlight. Here the air was warm and a small, stiff breeze held cooling currents.

"It's a relief, isn't? To be out of the cramped den," Meadowmist asked, turning her face to the sunlight, whiskers twitching in pleasure.

Sablepaw inhaled deeply, tasting the scents of the forest that she had missed.

"Such," Sablepaw replied shortly, slowly lowering herself to the grassy ground in a particularly sunny spot.

Nettlepaw padded past and dropped a sparrow at her paws with a small wink.

"Feel better soon," she whispered, before padding away to train with her mentor.

Sablepaw devoured the bird, ignoring the feathers that stuck to her muzzle. After she'd finished, she gave her pelt a quick groom, beginning to feel like a normal cat once more.

It was not long after that, as she lay in the sun contentedly, that cats began to gather in a ring around the center of camp. She pushed herself to her paws, pricking her ears curiously. As she began to limp over, another small group of cats hurried into the clearing.

A grey tom lead the group, tail waving proudly above his head. It was Fleetpaw; in the past moon, his shape had filled out, and where previously he had been slim and lanky, he was now burly and muscular, with small scars hiding beneath his soft grey pelt.

The small group of cats pushed their way through the ring into the middle, where they disbanded and left Fleetpaw alone with a shivering white Tainted tom.

"What's happening?" Sablepaw asked Meadowmist, watching avidly as Fleetpaw sank into a predatory crouch.

"It's a part of his assessment. He has picked a captured Tainted and to become a warrior, he must kill it."

Fleetpaw feinted to the right and the Tainted tom flinched, scuttling back a few steps.

_He's playing_, Sablepaw thought, settling down to enjoy the show.

Next, the grey apprentice leaped into the air, landing squarely on his prey's back. The white tom collapsed, wailing dramatically, before Fleetpaw leaped off again, leaving a series of claws marks on its back.

"Fight me!" Fleetpaw snarled, but his command earned him no more than a whimper. Fleetpaw dashed forwards, displaying his speed-despite his bulk- to the closely watching Morningstar, and rammed his shoulder into the tom's chest. He flew through the air and landed at the edge of the crowd. The cats only hissed at him and prodded him away.

Fleetpaw arched his back and darted forward, seizing the tom by his scruff and shaking his head violently before letting him go. The tom landed with a gasp and staggered to his paws, blood dripping from his back. Shaking, he paused for a moment, seeming to gather his courage before abruptly dropping it as Fleetpaw charged.

Shrieking like an owl, he fled from the apprentice's outstretched claws. The grey tom only increased his speed until he closed his jaws around the tip of the Tainted's tail and yanked. The tom squealed as momentum pulled him into Fleetpaw's claw-tipped embrace.

His paws were a blur; tearing there, dancing here, skating over the white tom's stomach, leaving parallel paths of red blooming in their wake. The tom pulled away away, trying to batter Fleetpaw with feeble blows- the grey tom only laughed and expertly parried.

As the tom raised a paw for another determined strike, Fleetpaw lunged underneath, twisting his body to rake his claws down the tom's already blood-stained stomach. As the apprentice ducked out the other side, shaking blood from his paws, the Tainted dropped to his side and rolled away. Without waiting for Fleetpaw to charge at him again, he pushed himself to his feet, staggering, furiously blinking his eyes, and found himself nose-to-nose with Sablepaw.

She found her lips drawing back in the beginnings of a snarl, ears flat, her own green eyes staring into the tom's stunned blue pair.

That was before the scent reached her nose.

* * *

**Voila, another chapter pour vous! So, yeah, that's basically what the Tainted are for. Like how the mother cheetahs bring back baby gazelles for their cubs to play with and practice their moves on...**


	19. Shards, Fragments and Reality

_Green eyes-_

The scent brought back-

_Like pale green fire-_

So many-

_Soft grey fur, bristling at her touch-_

Memories-

_A question, a hope-_

In shards-

_Impossible…_

And fragments-

_No, not impossible, she saw now that it was-_

Only now there were-

_Improbable, yet now in front of her sat-_

Blue eyes, wide, deep, searching, gleaming with confusion at her resemblance-

_Her sister, puzzling out the riddle of their relationship-_

She bared her fangs in a snarl-

_Wait- was someone there? Arrah had to-_

She couldn't care, not for a mere rogue tom, even if he carried _her _scent-

_Run._

Suddenly he was ripped away, flung across the ring, a yowl splitting his lips, blood soaking the torn fur of his throat-

_Run!_

…

Sablepaw blinked. The scent was gone, as well as the tom.

His limp body was being dragged unceremoniously out of the camp, a limp white tail trailing along behind him in the grass. She didn't know where they would take him. She told herself she would not care.

It didn't matter if Arrah's scent clung to his pelt, like moss to a tree. He was dead- so was her connection to her sister. She'd sent her away, told her to run, mentally snapped their instantaneous bond.

Sablepaw shook herself out of her daze. Another Tainted had been shoved into the ring. This time it was a thin ginger tabby tom, a scab matting the pale fur on his prominent ribs. This time it was Jaypaw's turn to fight.

The blue-grey she-cat's eyes were calm, her fur unruffled. She trusted her strength, her skills. The rumors weaving through the gathered crowd speculated that she'd brought back two Tainted mates and their kits- alone.

Morningstar fussily smoothed her whiskers into place before nodding to Jaypaw.

This time it was the Tainted who moved first. He barreled towards the slim she-cat, screeching, a feral light in his eyes. His cry was wordless, failing to contain his fear and pain. Jaypaw simply neatly sidestepped the tom, flashing out a paw to trip him. As he staggered, she shoved another paw at his stomach, __pushing him over to display his scarred stomach. Without pausing, she swiped her claws down the length of his body; from neck to tail. He let out another shriek- such a delicate cat, with such a feminine voice- and flung himself to his paws.

The ginger tabby struck out blindly. Jaypaw seized his paw in her jaws and gave a tug, sending the Tainted sprawling next to her. She leaned down, and in a single fluid motion, grasped his shoulder in her jaws. Slowly, she pulled her head back, keeping her jaws in place with one paw atop his shoulder. There was a sickening pop that echoed through the clearing. The brief moment of silence was shattered by his agonized scream.

The tabby flailed and managed to roll to his paws, dragging his dislocated leg with him. Jaypaw leapt after him. At first, she appeared to have miscalculated her jump entirely; she soared straight over his head. But her trailing hind legs struck his muzzle, knocking him into the ground. She landed, crouched, and spun around, a low growl emanating from her throat. The tom heaved himself to his paws and clumsily flung himself at the waiting she-cat.

This time Jaypaw rose to meet him, colliding with her severely weakened opponent in mid-air. She dug her claws deep into his fur and flipped him beneath her a mere heartbeat before they landed.

The impact was heralded with a dull thud and a contradicting sharp crack.

Jaypaw rolled to her paws, but the tom did not move. He did not get up.

"Congratulations," Morningstar purred smoothly, rising to her paws and giving a languorous stretch. Her sleek pelt gleamed in the sunlight; it was so slick and perfect, it was obvious she'd been grooming herself throughout the fight.

The crowd rose with her. They knew what would happen next, and though they would not exactly celebrate it, it excited them. They'd been in that position once; young, thrilled, poised to accept the new name that would mark them as a warrior of PureClan.

"May all cats old enough to unsheathe their claws gather beneath the Speaking Hill for a Clan meeting," Morningstar cried, leaping onto her old perch on the small knoll. Thornstreak hovered beside it, the stump of his tail twitching.

"Let the apprentices known as Fleetpaw and Jaypaw step forward," she demanded. These ceremonies had become tedious to her lately; she tended to rush through them in an effort to finish quickly.

The siblings padded to the front. Their fur was dusty and spotted with blood, but their mother had no time to fuss and groom them. Besides, that was not her job anymore. Any responsibility she carried for their appearance had stopped when they left the nursery.

"Young cats. Proven warriors in all but name. Do you promise to uphold and protect the warrior code, and to help protect PureClan from the invasion of the poison formerly known as love?" she asked.

The two nodded, murmuring, "I do." They couldn't say no, couldn't back out. They were tangled in Morningstar's web and were there to stay.

"Jaypaw. Under the eyes of StarClan I present you with your warrior name. The Clan honors your quest to evade the poison. You shall be known now as Jayflight."

The newly-named blueish-grey she-cat murmured a quick thank-you and backed away from her brother. He gave her no congratulations; only flicked an ear in her direction.

Morningstar turned to the tom. "Fleetpaw, under the eyes of StarClan I present you with your warrior name. The Clan honors your quest to evade the poison. You shall be known as Fleetstorm. Neither of you will receive your pair until they have completed their final assessments."

The Clan dispersed and Sablepaw hobbled back to her nest in the medicine cat's den.

The new warriors started their silent vigil. They didn't bother to clean the blood matting their were trophies of victory, and they would remain until they had all but flaked away in tiny dry specks of crusty brown, once vital, but condemned to be forgotten.

* * *

**Sorry it's a short chapter. I know, I know. So do you think the little bit at the start was weird? I was just trialing it out.**

**:D Guess what? KonoDragon's beta-ing this story, so there should be a lot less mistakes.**

**There's also a new poll on my profile about Smokepaw and Strongpaw, if you wanted to vote :3**


	20. Spots Begone

**Warning: this chapter contains traces of a cray-cray Morningstar. X3 You have been warned.**

* * *

Specklefrost's estimations were proved correct before the end of the moon. Sablepaw's leg wasn't exactly straight; the medicine cat had warned her previously that it would be slightly crooked. She understood that the accident had changed her; she was never going to be the same again.

Sparkpaw was the one to remove the splint. An experience, her mentor called it.

Sablepaw sat in her nest, awkwardly splaying her leg as the ginger she-cat slowly unwound strands of vines and dried grass.

"I'm sorry," she kept muttering, pulling away grass with her claws. "Does it hurt?"

"No," Sablepaw insisted; because it really didn't. It was just a leg again, unbroken, slightly crooked. She was perfectly healed, and itching to get back into training.

Sparkpaw pulled away the splint-branches, revealing clumped fur, matted with dirt.

"You should groom that-" Sparkpaw began. Sablepaw interrupted her, jumping to her paws.

"It'll be fine," she replied dismissively. "I can do it later." With that, she trotted out of the den, purring at the freedom with which she could use her leg. For the past moon she could only hobble.

"Be careful!" Specklefrost called after her. "I don't want to have to reset that leg again!"

The day outside was bright and sunny; it was newleaf, after all. The harsh season was past them, disappearing over the horizon with a final frozen glare. It would be back- the ever faithful follower of the season cycle- but to Sablepaw, it was the _now _that mattered.

By the time Sablepaw emerged, unfettered, it was already past sun-high. A few stray cats were scattered across the clearing. Morningstar sat on her hill, fussily grooming a paw. With a pang, the black apprentice remembered her dirt-encrusted hindleg. She ignored it and trotted over to her reclining mentor.

"Hi Meadowmist," Sablepaw greeted, sitting down beside the white she-cat.

"It's you," grunted the warrior, looking unsurprised. "What do you want?"

"Well, I got my splint off, and I thought we could do some training," she offered.

"Me? Train?" Meadowmist gave a snort of dry laughter. "Hardly. If you can't tell-" she paused and licked her plump stomach suggestively- "-then I'm a queen now. I won't be training you anymore."

Then, quieter, angrier, "Gorsespots has done it again."

Sablepaw didn't ask what _it_was supposed to mean; she had to suppress a giggle, pretending she hadn't heard her mentor's last sentence.

"So, who will train me?" Sablepaw asked, stifling her humour. She ached to get back into the forest; _longed _to run and stretch and tumble with a primal, feral, wild heart. She'd spent a moon in the medicine den, counting tiny black seeds and sorting glossy leaves into piles of glossy leaves, brown roots into piles of browns.

There was a sudden voice in her ear; low, smooth, ringing with an audible authority. She recoqnized that voice. It had led her tothe fight that had almost cost her her life.

"I will," Morningstar purred, disconcertingly close. Sablepaw leaned away from the leader, trying to look enthused.

"Can you go away now?" Meadowmist murmured, raising her face to the sky. "You're blocking my sunlight, Sablepaw." She didn't dare tell relay the same message to Morningstar, but all the same, it was implied.

"Follow me," Morningstar instructed curtly, turning and loping away. Her pelt gleamed a ridiculous shade of dark gold in the sunlight, and for a moment Sablepaw felt a flicker of envy. Why was Morningstar so beautiful, when she was stuck with her plain black fur and dull green eyes?

The pair trotted into the forest as Sablepaw quashed her pointless jealousy. It wasn't like she needed to be beautiful, anyway. Like all apprentices, she'd be matched by Morningstar to a tom who wouldn't care what she looked like. She'd have a bunch of kits, die in a raid or be felled by greencough or retire to the Elders' den. After that, she'd live in StarClan happily ever after. No need to be pretty.

The she-cat lead her to the bank of a small river, a little distance away from the Training Area. Faintly, the black apprentice thought she could hear challenging howls and cries of encouragement and advice.

_I wonder if Smokepaw is there_, she mused distractedly. _I didn't see him at camp. Not that I was looking, or anything._

"I thought we shouldn't do anything too strenuous on your first day back," Morningstar explained, taking a seat on the sandy shore. She gestured with her tail for Sablepaw to do the same.

"I trust that Meadowmist taught you to fish?" she asked, tapping the glinting surface of the creek with one unsheathed claw. She lifted it away and small ripples spread over the formerly tranquil surface.

"Yes, a while ago," Sablepaw replied, a little awkwardly. She was alone with the most respected and feared she-cat in the whole of PureClan; her emotions were a muddle of awe, terror, anticipation and smugness.

Morningstar _tssked _briskly. "A while ago isn't good enough. Catch me a fish; I'll observe your techniques and see what needs...fixing."

Sablepaw was too busy getting into her position and scanning the water to hear the deliberate implications behind the sly leader's words.

"It's nice and warm today. Good currents," Morningstar murmured behind her, watching as the apprentice slipped into a slightly lopsided crouch.

"Angle your paw more to the right," she instructed. "The shadow will appear thinner that way; less for the fish to notice. Sablepaw only nodded, altering her position.

In the distance, there was an angry yowl. Sablepaw stiffened; it sounded like Strongpaw.

"-stupid mousebrain! What did you do that for? _It hurt!_"

Sablepaw almost smiled, struggling to keep her concentration on the rippling water. With relief, she spotted the silver-and-brown gleam of a fish. Without hesitation, she reached down to scoop it out of the water with one curved paw. It flew through the air, thrashing, leave an arc of suspended glittering droplets in its wake. Morningstar rose up on her hindlegs, batting it out of the air. She landed, crashing her paws down on the fish's white belly before ripping her claws across its gills.

Sablepaw retracted her paw, wobbling on her unsteady hindleg.

"It's good so far," Morningstar said grudgingly. "But you need to watch your balance. One day you might find yourself..._toppling._"

"Falling, even?" Sablepaw asked. She'd caught the enhanced word this time. In a sudden rush of bravado, she'd begun to play Morningstar's own game. But the she-cat was looking pleased, not insulted or even vaguely dangerous.

"Yes. Falling, you could say. And that wouldn't be good at all. You could be swept away...lost."

"Or return to camp dripping wet with a mouthful of weeds," Sablepaw muttered, hooking a long, slimy strand of waterweed around her paw.

Morningstar didn't reply to that, but looked vaguely disappointed when she realized the brief word game had reached its conclusion.

Morningstar kicked the fish behind her and crouched on the bank.

"Copy my position," she commanded. Sablepaw settled down beside the golden she-cat, steeling herself in for another wait.

…

Morningstar finally agreed they could begin to head back to camp shortly before sunset. The golden she-cat was sitting on the bank, licking her wet paws. She paused suddenly, staring down at her foreleg with such venom Sablepaw was surprised.

"You can't just pluck at the root of the problem," she growled, scratching at a tawny dapple with her claws lightly.

Sablepaw only stared.

_What is this about? _she asked inwardly, sure she hadn't done anything wrong. Her pelt began to prickle. _Is this about Arrah and me? Smokepaw and me?_

"You have to…_dig _it out by the roots," Morningstar grunted, holding up one flecked brown claw to the fading light. With precision, she sliced downwards, through fur and flesh. She bared her teeth, hissing, dragging her claws in a rough circle around the dapple.

With a final snarl, she ripped the tawny spot away, and flung it at Sablepaw's feet.

"You see?" she panted. "Works every time. Now get your fish and let's go."

Wordlessly, the apprentice stooped to pick up the dead fish, deliberately avoided the scrap of fur. Morningstar had disappeared without her, so she followed the trail of crimson spots home.

* * *

**Chapter twenty, huh? We're something like 17 reviews away from 200, and it doesn't seem like all that long ago we hit 100. Who knew such a creepy story would be so popular?**


	21. Hopeful, Helpless

_Help me._

Her silent plea, an unuttered mantra.

It's what she thinks, over and over, when the other cats come down here. They remark on the fetid smell, wrinkling their noses in disdain, tossing them food scraps and then sneering as the brave ones fight to eat it, while she sits in her corner, back pressed against the wall, thinking, _help me, help me, help me, help me, help me, help me, help me._

There's no help. Down in this reeking cave, there is no one to save her. But she can't allow that to dim her hope- it's all she has left.

She's a polite cat. She keeps to her own small section of this cramped cavern, doesn't complain, taking a fair portion of the leftover prey. It's not much more than scraps- skin and bone, feathers and lumps of flesh- but she doesn't complain. Unlike some of her brutish neighbours, she has manners. She was a decent housecat, before _they _took her.

Yet here, now, manners, pedigrees, connections; they mean nothing. They're worth about as much attention as the dirt she sleeps on. Strength is what matters. Stamina. That's what gets you your next meal, what keeps you alive. Maybe she's slightly intelligent, but that is not a desirable trait around here.

So she keeps to herself, huddling in her reeking corner, not saying a word. It's hardly as if she's able to idly chat anyway; her muzzle is so crusted with scabs and hidden bruises, she can barely eat. Opening her mouth sends searing stabs of pain soaring through her nerves. When she does crack open her mouth, amid the sounds her jaws muscles popping, it's only to gulp down a scrap of prey or lick up a small trickle of water from the sides of the cave.

A small sweet breeze blows through the cave's entrance. It smells of the forest, but not of freedom. The forest is crawling with those _cats of PureClan_. Yet it feels cool against her grey ragged pelt, so she closes her eyes for a moment and pretends to forget.

When she opens them again the cavern is the same; rank, crumbling, crammed with the wounded bodies of alley cats and the few unlucky housecats like herself. A ginger-furred tom still stands guard outside the entrance, stiff-backed, with twitching yet perked spotted ears. The tabby tom below her coughs, once, twice, before it breaks off into airless heaves.

She thinks he's dying. A piece of wood is embedded in his chest, and even though the injury is older than a moon, it still leaks dark and sultry blood. He was a strong cat, but in the end, his internal injuries will be too strong for even him and his massive bulk to fight.

She lurches to her paws suddenly; She's spotted a mouse in a dark far corner. It's not that festering prey that _PureClan _brings them- it's _alive._

Cursing her creaking joints, she sinks into a rough crouch and prowls toward the plump little creature, carefully avoiding the prone bodies of her snoring den-mates. She hasn't had anything proper to eat for days on end- her shrunken stomach can testify to that- and hunger sharpens her rudimentary skills. She's a tail-length away before it spots her; even then it only freezes, staring at her with beady black eyes. Without hesitation she leaps, not so much as sailing through the air as flailing. She lands with her paws planted on either side of her prey, her muzzle smacking into its soft warm body. She's used to bigger prey; she used to hunt starlings in her housefolk's garden.

Heart bounding, the grey tabby sinks her teeth into the mouse's throbbing neck. It doesn't' make a sound- a miracle. Quickly, she casts a wary glance over her shoulder, but doesn't see anyone watching her. The tom is still coughing, however, and she doesn't feel brave enough to take it back to her dirt nest where anyone could steal her fresh-kill. This time she hesitates. There's only one place in the cavern where the captured cats don't dare to go; a deserted dark corner that smells like blood. In the daylight, the small bit they can see of it is riddled with bones.

_It's haunted_, the prisoners like to whisper, but even this is not enough to deter the starved she-cat. She caught that prey and she very well means to eat it.

Clutching her mouse in her jaws, she hurries over to the dark corner. She stumbles over a long white stick-like object but she doesn't stop. She knows what it was but looking at it isn't going to make her feel better.

Only when she finds herself pressed against the dirt wall does she stop. She swiftly drops into a crouch, ignoring her protesting muscles, and devours the mouse bit by mouthwatering bit. It's too small- all too soon she finishes it off. But she doesn't move. For some reason she likes this corner better than her old one. Despite the lingering odor of blood, it smells better. It feels cleaner. Just sitting among the bones makes her feel isolation is pleasant. And so she stays.

She builds herself a rough nest out of soft dirt and a few feathers she found. She frames it with a few snapped ribs and takes a sip from a small, stagnant pool to her left before she curls up and closes her eyes. She knows that tomorrow she'll wake up in a situation just as bleak and hopeless, but she tries to be a creature of the present. It's where she is now that she thinks about. Her stomach is full- cramped even- and she is warm. Her wounds are healing. She's been better, but she's also been much worse.

The grey tabby she-cat with the beautiful, vivid blue eyes begins to compare her two worlds; her soft, old life, and the literal hole she lives in now.

Where her existence was once painless, it is now filled with agony. Where it was loud, it is now deathly quiet- even the squabbles over prey and _their _off-hand comments cannot seem to break the stillness. Where her world was once safe, here, she knows that every day, she could die.

She knows that it is all _his _fault. He brought her to the she-cat with the gold pelt and a thirst for blood. That tabby tom with a curious tuft for a tail- he was to blame.

She may be a simple housecat, but she does not forget. And she doesn't believe she will forgive.

* * *

**Phew, small yet big chapter. Sorry it took so long for me to post ;-; Swifteh is sorry. She had no internet at her house... *coughYouTubecough* But she isn't dead! Even though she was slightly paranoid about her plane flight for which she had to get up at 5:30 a.m. But she had books. She went to a book fair yesterday and got tons of books for fifty dollars...**

**Can anyone guess who this mysterious ****_grey tabby_**** she-cat with ****_blue eyes_**** is?**

**(We're almost at 200 reviews! :D (Thanks to Kono for beta-ing my error-riddled work :3(Did you know that if all 50ish people who favorited and followed this story reviewed...it would be a massive amount of reviews and it would make a happy, slightly-less-mean-to-Sablepaw-and-co Swifteh. ;) ))**

**I know this is a massive AN already but I made a thingie on a forum for people to submit future kits for PureClan to. Link's on my profile if anyone wants to check it out.**


	22. Five's an unlucky number

There were five tiny bodies at her paws, helpless, pleading with wordless mews. How could there be five?

"Five's an unlucky number," Sablepaw told her old mentor sternly, pawing away the lashing tail of a small she-kit.

Meadowmist only snorted. "And why are you here exactly?" she asked, retrieving a stray kit by its scruff.

"I just wanted to see my mentor's kits," the black apprentice muttered. In her head, she added, _it'll be me one day_.

"What've you named them?" Sablepaw questioned, taking a seat on the edge of the mossy nest. Queens were special; the white she-cat's nest was lined downy white feathers, its rim crowned with mouse and bird bones. It was very decorative, but it probably did little against the flailing onslaught of the kits' churning limbs.

"Flurrykit," Meadowmist said, patting a white she-kit with ginger spots. "Swiftkit." A she-kit much like her sister, only with patches instead of dapples. The bright ginger tom was Firekit, and the white tom with the orange tail and muzzle was Cloudkit. The final one was a pale grey she-kit, covered in darker dapples with shockingly white fur on her chest and belly, named Ashkit.

"Play it right and you might even get to mentor one," Meadowmist said, licking one sleek white forepaw.

"How'd you get to keep five?" Sablepaw asked curiously, poking at Swiftkit. Meadowmist growled and pushed the other she-cat's paw away before replying.

"Morningstar said something about more kits, more apprentices, more warriors, more dead Tainted." Here she paused. When she spoke again, her voice turned smug. "She also told me- herself, in person- that she was carrying kits again. She'll match some of her litter to mine."

"That's, uh, lucky," Sablepaw muttered.

About a moon had passed since what Sablepaw had discreetly dubbed 'the incident of the spots', but the bloody memory was engraved into her mind. There was a jagged red scab on her foreleg that she didn't bother to hide or heal. Perhaps she hoped that the self-inflicted wound would scar; that way the cursed dapple would probably never grow back.

But what was even crazier than the golden she-cat was the fact that now, she was almost like Sablepaw's mother. She was a mother-like figure, at least, by being Thornstreak's pair; she did nothing to act like one. Strongpaw was her sort-of brother. Morningstar's new litter would be her half-siblings.

_Embertoothis my mother_, Sablepaw thought, disgruntled. _Embertooth. Not that insane she-cat. Pepperpawis my brother. Arrah is my sister. Embertooth is our mother and she was not a traitor. __My father loved her._

Her father's betrayal had somewhat wounded her. For some strange reason she thought he'd remain without a pair, loyal to his old one. He was hardly likely to be matched to a kit, would he? She hadn't foreseen Sedgewing and his untimely death.

"Come closer," Meadowmist murmured, a light sparking in her green eyes. "I'll tell you a secret."

Sablepaw tilted her head towards Meadowmist's muzzle and pricked her ears.

"The great leader herself told me she knows who to pair you to," the white she-cat whispered, her snowy whiskers brushing the top of the apprentice's head. "You still need to have your assessments first, but it's almost for definite. She said...she thinks you'll be very pleased." The queen giggled; a very un-Meadowmist-like sound. Was she hyped up on borage leaves or something?

_She thinks I'll be pleased? That's either very good or very bad._

Her mind flew to Smokepaw. She hadn't seen the grey tom much lately. Their interaction was minimal; a fleet smile, a passing grin there, a nod and a twitch of whiskers there. Pepperpaw wasn't their messenger, as Smokepaw had once been for her stupid plea. They didn't know what they had, but they knew that bringing anyone else into it was dangerous. Life-threatening. Ultimately, not worth it. Every warrior, every apprentice was hopelessly tangled in Morningstar's extensive web. She, the golden, venomous spider, had worked her trap with excellence.

Yet was there a chance she'd be matched to him? Despite her hope, Sablepaw's fur prickled warily. If Morningstar planned to pair them together thinking they'd be pleased, that meant she knew..._something. _Their feelings? Their odd relationship? What had transpired between them in that dark, dripping alley?

"Excuse me," Sablepaw muttered, slipping out of the den and brushing past a swollen-bellied Redsong.

Outside, it had already grown dark, but Sablepaw didn't care. She wasn't tired. The moss in her nest was stale and her den was crowded; Charpawand Streampaw had recently been apprenticed to Fallenfeather and Jayflight. Now, there simply wasn't enough room; the sisters had annoying tendencies to stretch out instead of curl up.

She ruled out the possibility of retreating to her nest and instead headed out into the forest. She deliberately avoided the old tree and owl that roosted there; wariness was a virtue. She'd never heard of anyone being carried off by the feathered creature, but there was always a first. She thought about headed to the meadow, but without the sunlight, the green expanse was just a cold, whispering field. More grey than silver, more slumbering than awake.

She found herself trotting aimlessly through the dim forest, unsuccessfully trying to leave her troubling thoughts in the dead leaves and dust.

_It's not as if I care about who I'm matched to, _she thought, crawling underneath a fern and startling a mouse from its hidden den. It scampered away, eyes bright, but Sablepaw didn't bother to chase it. _I mean, I shouldn't care. I don't. I'm a proud apprentice of PureClan and soon I'll be a warrior, and then I'll be a queen with my own kits. I won't care who their father is-_

Her thoughts abruptly cut off as she found an eroding dirt cliff beneath her forepaws. The gorge stretched below her, the small river at its center gleaming in the moonlight. With a gasp she tried to back away, but her claws found no purchase in the crumbling dirt; she only seemed to push the ledge she was standing on away from the cliff. A wail burst out of her throat, only to be cut off as teeth closed around her scruff and jerked her back.

A familiar scent wreathed around her nose. _Smokepaw. _There was no time to thank him- they were still slipping.

Not even the grey tom's strength could save them both. He'd either have to let her go and run or fall with her. It seemed he had no intention of doing the former; he only wrapped his body around hers as the ledge gave out completely. They toppled into the void, the wind tugging the sound out of their cries.

Sablepaw somehow twisted in the air, her muzzle against Smokepaw's. She heard him yowl something, half-lost against the roar of air.

"I think I-"

Then, they hit the ground.

…

To be specific, it was another ledge.

_At least it wasn't rock_, Sablepaw thought, blinking dazedly, lying with her stomach pressed against dirt, Smokepaw's back at her side.

The black she-cat rolled to her paws, stumbling.

"Great StarClan," the tom groaned, pressing his paws against his head. "Why can't you look where you're going, Sablepaw?"

"What were you doing there in the first place?" she replied hotly. "Wait, did you..._follow me_?"

Smokepaw gave her a sideways look, as if he couldn't muster up the energy for a glare.

"Someone needs to look out for you if you insist on walking off cliffs," he muttered, lurching to his paws and shaking his pelt.

"Where are we anyway?" he asked, peering off the edge of the ledge. The river was a fox-length or two below them, and the top of the cliff was double that.

"Dunno. A ledge, maybe?" she replied, poking the dirt with her claws.

"Are we stuck here?" Smokepaw said.

"Looks like it." Sablepaw snorted. "This'll make great gossip. Sablepaw and Smokepaw found on ledge under mysterious circumstances. Sablepaw's and Smokepaw's ethics questioned. Sablepaw and Smokepaw starve to death." She stalked to the lip of the edge.

"Hang on." Smokepaw's voice was muffled. Sablepaw turned to see the grey apprentice disappear over the side of the outcrop. She didn't have time to worry before his head popped up again, dark eyes smiling.

"There's another ledge down here," he told her. "And a hole... Looks like a cave."

Sablepaw trotted over and jumped down beside Smokepaw. This one was thinner, shorter, but just as Smokepaw had said, there was a gaping hole in the cliff-face. The she-cat tested its width, cautiously poking her head into the darkness. Her whiskers didn't brush the sides; she took that as a good sign she would fit. Her curiosity rose.

"Let's check it out. Looks better than a cold dip, eh?" Her voice echoed in the small space. The she-cat felt Smokepaw at her tail as she crawled through the entrance.

"There's even room to stand up," she whispered. Somehow, a loud voice did not feel right. This tunnel wasn't exactly sacred to her; the feeling came from a wariness of a cave in.

"Speak for yourself," Smokepaw grunted, crouched behind her. His silhouette filled the entrance, blocking out the golden sunlight. While she'd been recovering from her numerous injuries, the grey apprentice had grown bigger, bulkier, taller. Whatever Waterstripe's mentoring methods were, they seemed to be working.

Sablepaw purred briefly- inwardly wincing as the sound reverberated against the dirt walls- before moving on.

"So we just keep moving forward?" she asked softly, as they walked.

"I guess. Hope this isn't a dead end and actually leads us somewhere."

Sablepaw _mmmed _in response, unsure of how to respond to that. If it was a tunnel to nowhere… at least it was better than starving to death on a ledge. Or even worse, being found by PureClan, alone with a tom.

They walked in silence for a while; neither was quite sure what to say.

Smokepaw broke the sudden silence with a hushed voice. "Do you smell that? Fresh air. Something else too, but I can't quite…"

The grey tom pushed past her and took the lead. Sablepaw followed his grey pelt through the murk as best she could; she couldn't see much, nor smell the supposed fresh air. All she tasted when she opened her mouth was dirt, dust and a faint, faded scent of blood.

The tunnel lead them sharply up, up, up, until finally a whisper of clean oxygen brushed her whiskers. But there was something off about it- just as Smokepaw had said. A taste, a hint, of something off, wrong and rancid.

Sablepaw nearly bumped into Smokepaw at the top of the slope; the grey tom had stopped dead in his tracks, his bulk pressed low to the ground.

"What is it?" she hissed; Smokepaw's muzzle was pressed against the wall.

"Be quiet," he replied, pulling back from the wall, and Sablepaw saw a tiny shaft of light beaming from a hole. The source of the fresh air, She realized, but also the source of the reek.

Smokepaw unsheathed his claws silently and and raked them over the hole repetitively. Piece by crumbling piece, the hole widened and a wave of rank air rushed out to greet them.

Sablepaw crouched down by the other apprentice, pressing her pelt against his to peer into the cavity.

"Smokepaw!" she hissed. "Who are they?"

He stared at them for a while, eyes roving over the wounded, ravaged bodies before he replied. He stared at their scabs, their scars. He stared at their ribs, prominently and painfully visible beneath their ragged pelts. He stared before he dared to speak.

"It's obvious, Sablepaw," he murmured, giving her a nudge with his shoulder. "They're Tainted."

She felt her jaw drop, before she remembered to close it. "You mean our Tainted? The ones we captured?"

"Yes. Our Tainted. Who else?" he explained. She leaned against him, feeling the tense muscles beneath his soft fur.

The sudden face in front of the hole surprised them both.

"Who're you?" it whispered. The voice was soft, feminine, yet slurred. She was a grey tabby, with ringed blue eyes and a muzzle crusted with scabs. She glanced over her shoulder with a wince at the slumbering cats behind her.

"That doesn't matter," she murmured decisively. "You have to get out of here and go back to wherever you came from. If these cats catch you-" she tossed another wary glance. ", then you're as good as dead. Run! Get out of here!"

Sablepaw almost felt sick. This Tainted was trying to help them run from the monsters they'd already become.

"What about you?" Sablepaw asked. For some reason, she felt concerned. She tried to suppress the feeling; her PureClan instincts tried to take over, but they could not quash the odd emotion.

The she-cat touched the edge of the hole with one white paw. "I've managed here for the past few moons," she replied, dragging her claws in a downward arc over the rim. "One more shouldn't hurt. I'm not the strongest or anything but it shouldn't take me _that _long to widen this up. Once I do... I'll be free."

Sablepaw pawed away the dirt on the floor. She should feel wrong about letting this Tainted escape. She should be clawing its throat out. She should be safe in her stale nest at camp, but she didn't and she wasn't.

"Good luck," Sablepaw whispered, and turned to continue up the underground path. Her last words seemed to suffice as both encouragement and farewell. She heard Smokepaw wordlessly follow her, as the grey she-cat curled up in front of the hole. It was her lifeline, her only hope. Even a Tainted deserved that.

The tunnel only progressed to wind upwards. The air grew fresher, sweeter, and that was a relief to Sablepaw. The surface could not be much further away. She didn't say anything to Smokepaw, but they both increased their pace. They rounded a corner, and were rewarded by a burst of moonlit air.

"Smokepaw!" Sablepaw cried, breaking into a run. She darted up to the surface, paws thumping against the dry earth, relief pounding through her heart to sing in her veins.

The pair burst onto the surface and collapsed among the long grass of the meadow, laughing.

"Smokepaw, we're free, we're free we're free we're free!" she giggled, rolling over onto her other side to find herself nose to nose with the grey tom.

"Of the tunnel, at least," he said quietly, amber eyes somber once more.

"Don't do that. Not right now," Sablepaw said pleadingly, staring up at the star-streaked sky.

"Do what?" he asked, twitching a curious ear.

"Be all sad and serious. Can we be happy, just for once?"

Smokepaw nodded slowly. "Whatever you want." The dire light in his eyes changed, intensified, and somehow it told Sablepaw that Smokepaw would give her anything she wanted.

"So," she murmured, smiling, although the memory was not particularly pleasant. "What were you gonna tell me as we fell? _I think I-_"

The grey tom wriggled closer and rested his muzzle on top of her head.

"I'll tell you later," he whispered back. "But I think you can guess."

She purred, he purred, and for a little while, they were both happy.

* * *

**:D Finally, some SmokeXSable fluff!**

**Aaaaaaaaaand...over 200 reviews! Yay! **

**I has a little question: what was Smokepaw going to say?**


	23. Hide-and-Seek for Crazy Cats

The day of her first assessment dawned cold and clear.

_Just like my heart_, Sablepaw told herself firmly. _Just like my heart._ She knew she was lying to herself, but it didn't hurt to pretend. She told herself her feelings for Smokepaw were mere scabs on her heart; eventually they'd flake away and leave her healed and strong.

That morning, it was Nettlepaw who woke her.

"Hey, cripple, get up," she whispered, poking Sablepaw's muzzle with her paw. 'Cripple' had quickly become her nickname after her accident, to accompany her splinted leg.

Sablepaw blinked blearily. "What?"

It took one hushed word to wake the black she-cat up entirely: assessment. She scrambled to her paws with a groan.

"Fox dung, that's today?" she asked, scraping the moss of her nest into an untidy heap. Nettlepaw nodded solemnly.

"Just think. We're less than a moon away from being warriors and finally seeing who our pairs will be. Well, some of us. I guess a few of the toms will have to be paired to current kits or apprentices and stuff. That'd be annoying having to w-"

Nettlepaw's prattling became little more than a wordless drone in Sablepaw's tufted ears. They were words she'd heard over and over, only molded into a new pattern and taking a new shape.

Instead she thought about being matched, the final assessment that would shackle her to a tom for the rest of her life- and probably even into StarClan. Mentally, she ran through the eligible list of toms:

Fleetstorm, Smokepaw, Slatepaw..._Strongpaw_. Unfortunately, Pinepaw would never be a pair option; he was the male medicine cat apprentice now. The previously open position was the only thing that had saved his life. Slatepaw, although reserved from what she had noted, wouldn't be a bad choice. After all, he shared Smokepaw's blood. Neither would Fleetstorm, she guessed, but she didn't really know the young warrior- at least his sister was nice enough. Smokepaw would be perfect. All she knew about Strongpaw was that he was not.

They squabbled over who had caught the squirrel on the fresh-kill pile; about whose turn it was to pick ticks off the elders- the old cats didn't count as either female or male, really, because they had to interact with kits; who's back kick was better; who was going to kill the most Tainted in their lifetime. And Sablepaw was afraid that it was _that_ that Morningstar had noticed.

"-obviously Slatepaw or Smokepaw will never be my pair- I mean eww, _siblings_- but I'm hoping Fleetstorm's gonna be my pair. He's already a warrior...no offence to your brother or anything. Sablepaw, are you listening?"

Sablepaw nodded and pasted a faintly irritated expression on her face, the hint of emotion that was expected of her.

"Of course I was," she replied.

"Are you nervous?" Nettlepaw asked, her eyes wide and understanding. The green depths were almost warm.

"So nervous," Sablepaw admitted. "But who isn't?"

Streampaw's content snore answered her question, and the older apprentices glanced at her and smirked.

"Let's go outside and eat something," the fawn she-cat whispered, rising to her paws. "We'll feel better."

Sablepaw followed her friend out into the crisp early morning fog that blanketed the exposed camp. The small pile of prey was sodden but Nettlepaw somehow managed to fish out a vole whose fur wasn't too damp. They retreated to the edge of the camp and wedged themselves between the female apprentice den and the nursery, where Meadowmist's kits were squeaking softly through the rotted wood walls and brambles. Redsong was snoring raspily in her sleep; apparently her kits were due any day now.

Slowly, they took small bites. As soon as their meal was finished, they knew, they'd be sent off into the forest to do StarClan-knew-what for their assessment.

"Before you know it, our kits will be warriors," a smooth voice purred in her ear.

The black she-cat hissed and jerked her head back to see Strongpaw standing, tall and confident, at her shoulder.

"You're talking about _your_ kits," Sablepaw growled, leaning backwards another few inches until she could feel Nettlepaw's dappled fur brushing her own.

"Our kits, Sablepaw. I do mean, _our_ kits," the calico tom said simply. He winked. "I know things, you see. The position of Morningstar's son has its perks. Who knew?"

"Morningstar would never tell you anything important," Sablepaw spat. Under her breath she added, "Arrogant mousebrain."

Strongpaw winked again. If he'd heard her muttered comment he chose not to show it. "Who says she told me?" he asked innocently, sauntering away into the fog with a final flourish of his brown-and-white tail.

"Creep," Sablepaw muttered, sinking her jaws into the vole.

Nettlepaw's eyes widened. "He's not _in love with you_, is he?" she whispered, remembering to close her mouth. "Then you could tell Morningstar and she could exile him or something!"

"Likely," Sablepaw snorted. "And no, I don't think he's in love with me. He's far too...annoying. But I mean, I don't know what classifies the poison. He just wants a reaction."

Nettlepaw giggled. "And he got one."

Sablepaw tugged a piece of flesh from the vole's ribcage and chewed loudly. She deliberately chose not to reply; her friend had been right (she nearly always was).

The dappled fawn she-cat pricked her ears, before flattening them to the back her head.

"StarClan save me," she hissed. "That's Fallenfeather. I'd better go, 'cos I guess my assessment's about to begin. Wish me luck!" Without hesitating to hear Sablepaw's reply she heaved herself to her paws and scurried away. She left the rest of the vole for Sablepaw, which she ate in small, slow bites.

She was content to sit by herself, listening to the soft and peaceful sounds of the nursery until a haughty golden shape appeared in front of her nose. In a flash of flecked claws she snagged the remains of the apprentice's meal and flung them carelessly away.

"Sablepaw!" Morningstar growled. "What are you doing? The more you sit here doing nothing the less time you have to complete the first stage of your assessment."

Sablepaw shrugged, averting her eyes from the peeling scab on the leader's foreleg. Instead her eyes fell on Morningstar's plump belly.

"I was just eating," Sablepaw complained, swiping her jaws with a red-stained tongue.

Morningstar narrowed her eyes. "I have plans for you," she warned, the ice in her eyes thin. "Don't ruin them." And then, as if she'd said nothing, as if she'd given her pair's daughter- and practically her own apprentice besides- a small word of encouragement

"Your first task will be hunting," Morningstar called.

Sablepaw felt relieved enough to let out a small purr. On a good day, she brought in lots of prey. Today, it was the middle of Greenleaf. Suddenly the first task did not seem so difficult.

Until the golden she-cat whisked around. "But not any hunting, darling. You're hunting for a Tainted." She waved Tallstorm and Tornear over.

"You, brute," Morningstar commanded, poking Tornear with a claw. "Give her the scent."

Wordlessly the tabby tom pawed a clump of ginger fur toward her and gestured for her to take it. Sablepaw crouched to smell it, memorizing the bright shade, the pigment of the drying blood at one end.

"You have until sunhigh to track and 'capture' the Tainted whose scent matches this. Don't interfere with the other apprentices; we'll be watching you. You understand?"

Sablepaw nodded. She knew she could do this. How hard would it be, to find one tiny cat in a forest of scents? But she had her tricks.

"Okay then. Go," Morningstar barked, flicking her tail roughly across the two tom's faces to signal their dismissal.

It was Sablepaw's time to be wordless; wordless, ruthless and efficient. She got to her paws, gave her crooked leg a small shake and trotted out of camp, pushing down the urge to glance longingly at her abandoned prey.

There was no fog in the forest; the thick leafy canopy had repelled the thick blanket that covered camp. The Tainted's scent was fresh in her memory, but before she'd left, she made sure she remembered the two tom's scents. For a while she tracked those in a straight path toward the meadow. Underneath the tall shadow of a pine, Tornear's scent disappeared and left only Tallstorm's. Sablepaw followed the faint trail, tasting the air occasionally to make sure her direction was correct.

She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Of course Morningstar had told her that someone would follow her, and check her progress, but it was uncomfortable having her every move judged by a pair of unknown, calculating eyes. Her breath hitched in her chest- Sablepaw couldn't stand the thought of being stalked like a mouse.

_Calm_, she told herself firmly, for fear would do her no good in an assessment. In one of Morningstar's many lectures she'd explained how fear ruined concentration and impaired the ability to think and strategize. In panicked moments, instincts had priority, but instincts were a coward's escape; their only care was self-preservation.

Her thinking was interrupted when she realized she could no longer track Tallstorm. The black tom's scent was simply gone. Sablepaw sat down, stunned. Tallstorm was her lifeline to track the Tainted. How had he..?

It was more by luck than any amount of skill that she caught it again. It came to her drifting on the wind, brushing against her nose and lightly demanding that she return to the chase. With a grin twisting her muzzle now, she glanced at the towering tree beside her. Of course. Nothing could be simple for the soon-to-be warriors, could it?

Sablepaw rose from her seat and backed up a few paces. She sank into a crouch, calculated, and burst into a sprint. A fox-length from the tree she flung herself into the air and landed on the gnarled trunk the tree, her obsidian claws sinking into the bark to keep her grip. In a series of small frog-like vertical hops and clawed her way up the tree until she reached a thick and twisted bough where Tallstorm had evidently been; breaking branches and twigs in his wake.

With delicate steps, she picked her way onto the branch, hissing as it groaned under her weight. From there she stepped gingerly onto the branch of another tree, pausing quickly to touch her nose to a tuft of dark fur caught on a leaf.

She pushed on with a growl. It died in her throat as the wood beneath her creaked. She tottered, digging her claws into the timber, glancing at pine-needle-strewn forest floor. Using her tail to regain her balance, she straightened up and took a careful shuffle forward. If she fell it wouldn't be an incident like the cliff; there was no strong tom to save her, no ledge to save her from her flailing descent.

With relief she reached a tree where Tallstorm's scent lead down. In an awkward scramble of legs and a tail, she half-climbed half-slid down the trunk. She handed in a heap at its roots before leaping to her paws. She was being assessed; she had to look good and professional. Shaking her head to clear it, she saw she was in a small glen- the pine trees had disappeared. There were more scents now, clogging her nose, and it took time to untangle one from the other.

Tallstorm.

reek of faeces, urine and fear.

The Tainted.

And now she heard him too- tiny whimpers, muffled as if blocked by a paw. Heavy, shallow breaths. And so, it was easier to locate him by sound rather than smell. She sank into a crouch, ears pricked, and stalked to the other side of the small clearing where the noises were loudest. With a hiss, she ripped away a curtain of lichen with her paw to reveal a cat-sized hole in a warped, sunbleached tree.

_Lo and behold_, Sablepaw thought smugly. _There is my Tainted._ The small ginger tom huddled against the mouldering wood wall behind him, his green eyes wide and plaintive. Blood matted his shoulder, his stomach and the lower half of a hind leg that was clearly broken. _Shattered_ would be the better term.

She wondered if she was supposed to rip out his throat, or announce her victory to the whole forest in a triumphant yowl. She did neither- she only sat down on a patch of flattened grass to wait, casually trying to groom her mussed pelt and keep an eye on the twitching ginger tom.

Yet it was clear the injured Tainted was going no where; he only buried his muzzle beneath his scabbed paws.

Eventually Morningstar trotted into the clearing, a pleased smirk twisting her mouth. The hairless patch of fur on her leg gleamed in the sunshine.

"Sablepaw," she greeted, inclining her head slightly. "That was impressive. Granted, you _were_ supposed to wander around the forest for several hours until you caught the scent but tracking Tallstorm's path was much more efficient."

Thornstreak stalked in after her, pausing to briefly nod at his daughter. He had a surly frown planted on his face- it had become perpetual in the moons after Embertooth's death- because, after all, what else could be expected from Morningstar's thug and pair? (The golden she-cat's moods were never as bright as her pelt.)

"Congratulations," Morningstar purred, sinuously winding her her tail around the tuft of Thornstreak's. "You passed."

As they left the clearing, leaving Thornstreak to dispatch the Tainted, Sablepaw wondered if she should have an inkling of achievement, instead of the disgust coiled in her heart.

* * *

**Yay! New chapter! (I received your message loud and clear, Kittystar ;3.) And little Sablepaw is growing up. I think she'll only have two more assessments to go, but the details are still a little foggy.**

**So, over 230 reviews, eh?**


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